


Naughty Drabbles: TOS/TAS/AOS

by yeaka



Series: Naughty Drabbles [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bukkake, Cock Warming, Collars, Comeplay, Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, Drabble Collection, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Facials, Fucking Machines, Gags, Humiliation, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mirror Universe, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, PWP, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pon Farr, Public Humiliation, Roleplay, Sex Toys, Slavery, Slurs, Sounding, Spanking, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M, WTF, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 23,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of short, unrelated, shameless and/or ridiculous pornographic drabbles updated whenever. (Most tags only apply to one or more stories; chapters are labelled for their individual warnings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Khan/Chekov (bukkake)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Благими намерениями...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404103) by [kaiSSa666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiSSa666/pseuds/kaiSSa666)



> A/N: This shouldn’t exist, but it does. (Please heed individual chapter warnings.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cumberbatch cumbath. Because yes please.

There isn’t a proper place to handcuff Pavel in the bathtub, so Khan has to settle for ordering, “Stay.”

And Pavel’s so obedient that it’ll probably work, but Khan would’ve still liked to chain his little Russian boytoy down. Pavel blinks up at Khan innocently, sitting in the white tub on his ass, hands handcuffed only to each other, resting on his lap. He’s leaning against the end and his feet are flat on either side of the drain, knees bent and spread. He’s chewing his bottom lip cutely, and he mumbles, “John, I do not zhink zhis will really—Ah!” He’s cut off in a sharp, high pitched cry, eyes closing, as Khan’s first load shoots out right over his face, and Khan, chuckling, tilts his cock down and keeps pumping. 

They’re both naked in the bathroom of his apartment, and even though he’s never told Pavel that he’s an augment, he’s sure his little boy-genius will figure it out; no regular man would be able to come so much in one load. It covers Pavel’s face and drizzles right down his cheeks, and Khan splatters Pavel’s chest and lap, even drenching his thighs right up to his knees. Khan pumps and pumps and moans, until he’s shaking out the last drops, and Pavel’s covered in a mess of sticky, white patches. He whimpers, and Khan warns, “Don’t spit.”

Pavel nods submissively and smacks his lips, swallowing and trying to lick what he can off his face. Khan’s still pumping himself, still hard. One of the many, many joys of his superior genes. Fast recovery, incredible stamina. Very fertile. Virile. He’s had fun taking Pavel for multiple rounds before, but tonight he wants to see Pavel nearly drowning in his cum, and it might take a while, but he knows he’ll get there. Pavel knows better than to try and escape or clean himself off, so he simply clears his lips enough to breathe, and he glances over at Khan’s cock. 

He’s such a good boyfriend. He even leans over, sticking out his tongue, looking up for permission before he goes all the way. Khan nods benevolently, hand still going, but he doesn’t stroke all the way to the end now. He’s standing right next to the tub, and Pavel leans over to suckle on the tip. 

As soon as Khan’s about to come a second time—which isn’t difficult when he’s determined like this; he has complete control of his body—he jerks Pavel back by the hair. For once, he isn’t going to cum in those pretty curls—he needs them for a handle. Instead, he aims at Pavel’s lap again, so it spills over, slipping down his hips, drenching his front. Pavel asks while it hits him, squirming and moaning, “Should I open my hole so some can get in?”

“Not yet,” Khan grunts, hosing him down. By the time Khan’s done, it’s like Pavel’s wearing a blanket, and it slips down his body slowly, slick around his nipples and his lips and the tip of his cock, trying to peek out. “But I will have you get on your hands and knees so I can get your back.”

Pavel nods like a good boy and listens to his master, climbing forward. He arches his back just like he knows Khan likes it, sticking out his ass, and he asks, “May I take a real bazh awter?”

“No, you’ll lick it all up,” Khan hisses, exuding all his power and feeling nothing short of incredible. “I’m going to come all over you until this tub is filled, and then you’re going to bathe in my cum like the filthy fucktoy you are, and then you’re going to have it all for dinner and tell me how much you love it.”

Pavel bites his lip and bats his lashes and mumbles, “Yes, Commander,” like a thing right out of a dream. And he whines when the next batch hits him, but he leans up into the spray like he’s never had anything better. His pink cock hangs between his legs, hard and full, capped with a little cockring, because the cum he eats will be _all_ Khan’s. He croons the entire time Khan’s coming on him. 

Then he drops back down to his side, rolling in it like a puppy and displaying his chest beautifully, mouth open like he wants to catch some. His legs are spread eagerly, and he watches Khan jerk himself to the next round, begging, “You will let me suck you at some point, yes?”

“When I get near the end and need it,” Khan chuckles. “For now, just lie there and be beautiful.”

Which Pavel’s already doing. Pavel sighs, “Yes, Master,” and settles in for a good night of being _owned._


	2. Kirk/Khan (biting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk bites Benedict’s back-of-the-neck mole for BotanyCameos.

The trouble with Khan is that he’s a very demanding lover wrapped in too-resilient skin. He likes it hard, he likes it rough, and he likes Jim to make him _feel_. The more it hurts and the more he screams, the more he revels in it, particularly because it’s so hard for anyone to make him really _scream_. It’s a challenge Jim always enjoys rising too. 

Jim’s still buried to the hilt after he’s come, and he’s incredibly satisfied for about a minute before he notices that his handiwork’s all gone. He leans up, stretched out along Khan’s back in his bed in the captain’s quarters, and he glares down at the patch on Khan’s neck that used to be a dark purple. Now it’s a faded pink. Jim bit and sucked and chewed as hard as he could, and Khan’s already healing. Jim runs his tongue over the area, and Khan drawls with a small note of frustration, “Is it gone?”

“Yeah,” Jim grunts, biting it again fiercely, though it’s no use. He sees Khan’s slight wince, but he knows that’s not enough to please his lover properly. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t do it right,” Khan growls, voice low, always so _sensual_. Jim’s told him not to talk after sex; it’ll just get Jim hard again. They’re both completely naked, and the covers are a mess on the floor. There’s a dent in the wall from fucking each other too hard against it, but apparently Khan’s skin is more durable than a _wall._ It’s ridiculous. 

Jim grumbles indignantly, “But I practically broke the skin—you were almost bleeding!”

“You should make me bleed,” Khan scolds, bucking his ass up into Jim to signal his point, and Jim moans. “Do it again.”

Damn that augmented stamina. They just went. Jim leans his forehead against the back of Khan’s hair, dark and soft, and he stares at Khan’s pale neck, and the way it curves into his broad shoulders, the way it runs down into his lean spine. Khan has a gorgeous back. Khan has a gorgeous everything. Lying on top of him, cock buried in his tight ass, is enough to get Jim already half-hard again. He thinks of all the little details of Khan’s body to help finish the job: the sharp cheekbones, the iridescent eyes, the small moles on the side of his neck. The one on the back Jim laves over, and then he stretches his jaw and bites as brutally as he can, until he hears Khan hiss. Jim sinks his teeth in. Khan’s neck is long and too tempting. 

And Jim’s going to bruise it as best he can, leave his mark, let everyone know who Khan belongs too. Jim’s fingers wrap around Khan’s chest, clutching at Khan’s tight abs and running down, tracing Khan’s taut stomach and diving through the coarse pubic hair, grabbing at his cock. Khan has a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, and it makes his neck tighten slightly. Jim adores it. 

Jim wrenches away only when he’s sure he’s done real damage, and then he pulls back to admire the way he’s left a dark ring, teeth indents around a saliva slicked circle, the one little mole pristinely in the center. Khan moans beneath him, “Harder.”

So Jim dives in for more, cock officially hard again.


	3. Bones/Kirk (panties, collars)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Academy-era!Jim being easy and playing on Bones’ fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lead up to rough sex for Lomesir and a fill for the [ST:ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1259028#t1259028)

Leonard’s halfway out of his uniform when he hears Jim call from the bathroom, “Bones?”

“No,” Leonard snorts, rolling his eyes. “It’s Gaila!”

“It better not be!” Jim laughs. “I think she’d be pretty mad about what I did with the stuff she left behind!”

“Stuff?” Leonard repeats, too low for it to carry. Instead of repeating it louder, he decides he doesn’t want to know and pulls his grey undershirt over his head, getting started on his red cadet pants. He’s down to his boxers when Jim strolls into their bedroom, wearing... almost nothing. 

_Almost_ nothing. Leonard’s throat goes abruptly dry, and Jim strolls a step closer, purring, “I wasn’t sure what kink to go with, so I decided on both.” He winks in that sexy little way only he can do, crossing his arms over his bare chest. 

His crotch might as well be bare. But it isn’t. It’s covered in tight, hot-pink, so-thin-they’re-nearly-sheer panties, with lace around the edges and a little white bow in the front. The outline of his hard cock is more than visible, the tip just millimeters away from peeking out the top. Jim’s wearing sheer, thigh-high stockings clipped with white ribbons to a frilled garter belt, snug around his taut waist.

And there’s a dog collar around his neck. Fuck. He’s wearing a fucking _collar_ , complete with a little metal nametag and blunt studs in the leather. He looks like several of Leonard’s best wet dreams combined, and he takes yet another step closer, purring, “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?”

“You’re a slut,” Leonard says immediately without even thinking. “A filthy slut. You’ve probably got every disease in the galaxy.”

“And you want me,” Jim finishes, bending forward with his hands on his thighs in the short expanse of fabric-less skin. “You want to rip my panties right off and stuff my little hole full of your cock.” He wiggles his ass, and Leonard _severely_ regrets whining about Jim fucking the whole Academy but him last night at the bar, because there is no way this night is ending without absolutely ruining their friendship. 

He was _supposed_ to be making a joke, anyway. He’s straight. ...Or he was straight, up to about three minutes ago. Now he’s questioning everything he ever thought, because Jim runs his hands down to his knees, then up his side, lifting the frills and climbing up his chest, brushing over his rosy pink nipples and over his broad shoulders, up his lean neck to slide through his blond hair. His perfectly blue eyes are half lidded, his cheeks slightly flushed. His fingers run back down to the collar, and he licks his lips, asking, “Are you going to leash me up and take me for a walk to your bed, or are you going to make me beg?”

Make him beg. It takes every bone in Leonard’s body not to shove him to the floor and fuck him through the tight panties right now, but Leonard wants to hear the begging. Fuck. How did Jim know about his pet play fetish? He must’ve left a porno on his PADD. Or maybe it’s just obvious from the way he likes to taunt and humiliate people and exert his power. The panties are obvious—Jim thinks he’s straight. Or was straight. Leonard’s never been big on crossdressing, but something about the way Jim’s cock is straining at the fabric is making his mouth water. And Jim’s legs look _amazing_ in those stockings. Leonard’s almost disappointed that Jim’s not wearing heels, but then, he supposes that wouldn’t work for when he inevitably makes Jim crawl on all fours anyway. 

“Bones, I really want you to fuck me,” Jim sighs, like a whiny child asking their parent for ice cream. “I’ve fucked every other cadet in this school, and I’m still not satisfied—none of them can fill me up like I know you can. I’ve seen your cock in the shower; I know how big and thick it is, and I _really_ want it in my mouth. And then I want it in my ass, hard and rough, right here on the floor or in your bed or _anywhere_ you want. I just want you to order me around and make me your bitch...”

Fuck fuck _fuck_. Leonard’s fingers are digging tightly into his palms. There’s no way his underwear isn’t a complete tent. He’s barely breathing. The next step Jim takes puts them almost flush together, and Jim leans in to whisper in his ear, “I want you to fuck me so bad that I even got myself ready for you—I fingered my tight little hole and stretched it full of lube, and I made my panties wet in the process, but I didn’t care. This is my second pair; the first has lube stains in the back and precum stains in the front, and my balls kept falling out of them anyway, and they didn’t have the bow. I wanted the bow. That way you know I’m a present. Just. For. _You._ ”

Jim tries to kiss Leonard’s cheek, but Leonard shoves him so hard that he topples to floor, gasping and landing right on his ass. He lifts up on his elbows and looks up at Leonard, panting with exhilaration already, looking more exited than shocked. He throws his head back and looks up through his lashes, legs spreading. It gives a great view of his crotch, the little indents along his thighs and the bottom of his ass, dick and balls just barely restrained. He bites his lip and moans, “I dare you to fuck me.”

Leonard pushes his underwear right down his thighs. He’s going to hell. Fuck it; he’s bi now. Who was he ever kidding anyway? Rooming with a ready fucktoy like Jim. He never stood a chance. If it were a girl, Leonard would pull her up and carry her to the bed, lay her down and start to kiss her. 

Instead, it’s Jim, and Leonard knows he can go rough. This is going to be brutal. He kneels down between Jim’s spread legs and lets them wrap around him, and he hooks one finger in the bottom of the panties, wrenching them aside, getting a look at Jim’s pink, puckered hole, clearly wet and a little abused from too much fingering. Leonard puts his cock right against it, and he looks up to grunt, “You’ve done it now, kid.”

Jim just smirks, like he’s won some kind of game. Voice almost back to normal, he says, “This is part of my loyalty program for officers I know will serve on my ship.”

Leonard snorts, “Shut up,” and slams right inside.


	4. Kirk/Khan (comeplay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for the [ST:ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1431572#t1431572) in which Khan has a selective cum fetish.

Khan moans around the thick cock in his mouth—he can tell it’s getting close. Jim’s groaning even harder, chest arching up, head throwing back. Every time Khan looks up, Jim’s in a different state of disarray, pupils dilated, eyes half-lidded or fully closed, cheeks flushed, lips barely parted or wide open, moist either way, or maybe even being bitten. Jim’s face in the midst of sex is absolutely wonderful, and perhaps that’s one of the reasons Khan deems him _worthy._

But it’s probably because Jim _beat_ him, did what he couldn’t. Jim saved his crew and brought down Marcus and woke Khan a second time, and this time, Khan’s making sure he and the man who woke him have a better bond. Khan knows a good opponent when he sees one. Even when he and Jim were enemies, Jim was a clever fighter, one of the only men that actually proved to be a _threat_.

And now he’s showing off that power, servicing Khan’s biggest desires. They’re here because of Khan’s kink, a mutual benefit to both of them. Khan smirks around Jim’s cock when he thinks of how it’s almost like an Orion slave girl, bound to her master but ultimately seducing her way into getting _what she wants._ Khan wants Jim’s _cum_ , hot and fresh and all over his face. It’s not something he could indulge with just anyone, and words can’t express how pleased he is to have found the perfect man to drench him in a healthy batch of seed.

One of Jim’s hands runs down to Khan’s hair, fisting in it—Jim leans forward over the bed, holding Khan in tight. Khan’s on his knees on the floor, tucked between Jim’s legs. He’s already got all of Jim down his throat—Jim’s blond curls are tickling his nose, balls up against his chin, shaft throbbing and heavy on his tongue. He does his best to lick the underside, sucking hard ever time he slips off, slamming down all the way right after. He bobs up and down on it over and over again, humming and hollowing out his cheeks, and he grips Jim’s thighs, doesn’t touch himself, even though he’s hard as a rock. This isn’t even the best part. 

Oh, Jim’s close. It’s so clear. His moans are torrential, and he loses the control he was doing so well restraining. He jerks forward suddenly, slamming his cock up against the back of Khan’s throat, and Khan’s superior genes don’t allow him to choke. He’s better than that. He can suck cock like a champion and never once gag. Jim starts bucking into him, fucking his face wildly, muttering, “Shit,” and, “Fuck yeah,” and, “Gonna come,” and then he really does it. He holds on tight, screaming loud. 

And Khan grabs Jim’s hips and shoves himself back, wrenching out of Jim’s grasp, letting the hard cock slip out of his lips and diving underneath it. It instantly explodes all over him, and he quickly grabs the base, pointing it straight at his open mouth, then up to the bridge of his nose, even over his forehead. Another reason Jim’s a worthy lover—he comes a ridiculous amount. It splashes out in hot, thick jets across Khan’s skin, splattering his cheeks and pooling up on his tongue, draping across his nose and clinging to his closed eyelids, slick and filthy. Khan closes his mouth and tilts up, letting more spill down and over his lips, clinging to them. It’s hard to keeps his lips sealed; he wants to moan like the filthy slut he is for Jim.

The captain’s slut. He may not be in charge of this ship, but he’s running the back end of the man who does. Having Jim’s cum all over him makes him feel like he’s _marked_ , _branded_ , utterly _owned_ by Jim Kirk. And that thought is far hotter than it should be. When the cum finally stops coming, Khan lets his eyes open a sliver to check, and he shifts that millimeter closer, rubbing the tip of Jim’s spent cock over his lips. He darts his tongue out to taste it. Then he opens wide and swallows it again, just quickly, just to clean it up. He pulls back and he swallows, and he looks up at Jim and licks his cum-soaked lips, already slightly swollen and bruised from being fucked so hard. 

Jim’s blue eyes are very, very wide. “Holy _fuck_.”

Khan swipes one palm up his cheek, bring it to his lips to press his tongue against, licking it slowly up, savouring the salty taste and purring, “Thank you, _Captain_.”

Jim opens his mouth. He closes it. Khan uses the time to spread some of the cum on his forehead into his hair, and finally Jim manages hoarsely, “You are the fucking hottest thing in this whole fucking universe.”

Smirking, Khan merely sighs, “I told you I’m better at _everything._ ”


	5. Kirk/Chekov (nipple play, D/S)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for the [ST:ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1285140#t1285140) in which Jim makes Pavel ride his cock while he plays with Pavel’s nipples.

There’s approximately thirty minutes between the alpha shift and beta shift where Jim orders everyone off the bridge, and Pavel practically flies to his lap in the captain’s chair. Pavel shoves his pants and panties down and climbs right onto Jim’s hard cock, already stretched and dripping—he prepares himself every break. For the first few thrusts, he’s just lost in the sensations, squealing with delight and writhing on the thick cock inside him, and then he follows Jim’s orders to take his shirts off. 

He had to wear three shirts for this—the two standard ones and an extra, thin thing, just to keep what’s underneath from showing through. The two tiny metal clips are still fastened to Pavel’s sensitive nipples, rosy pink and pinched forward, the thin chain hanging tantalizingly between them. It bounces against his smooth chest with each thrust of Jim’s hips, and Pavel bites his lips while Jim fucks him, moaning, “Da, da, da...”

Jim has to bite his own lip not to snicker. Pavel’s always so eager for it. Never mind that Jim torments him all day, standing too close to Pavel’s chair and keeping his crotch in Pavel’s face, or making Pavel bend over the console and then draping over him, pretending to check calculations. Sometimes Jim even corners Pavel in the turbolift and fucks him hard against the wall, but mostly he just makes Pavel wear lewd things under his clothes. Sometimes it’s plugs, sometimes it’s vibrators. Panties are always a must. Today, Pavel’s nipples have been the source of Jim’s play. Pavel’s _so responsive_ everywhere, but his cute little nipples are definitely a soft spot, and Pavel goes wild whenever Jim plays with them. Right now, Jim wraps his arms around Pavel’s waist, and he pulls Pavel up into him, bending down to stick his tongue out and run all over them. 

The change is immediate. Pavel makes a beautiful cry of ecstasy and starts playing party to his own fucking. He lifts himself up and slams himself back down, thighs tight around Jim’s legs, used as leverage. He impales himself over and over, gasping and moaning and squeaking each time, voice high-pitched and gorgeous. His curls bounce against his forehead, his small body bouncing up and down on Jim’s cock, riding it like a proper toy. Jim tugs on the chain, and Pavel _shrieks_ , ass squeezing at Jim’s cock like it’s all he ever wanted. His cock is tied at the base—always is—but it’s hard as hell between their stomachs. He gets so horny when Jim touches his nipples. Jim lightly flicks the chain like reigns on a horse, watching the way each clamp tugs at the pert buds, and then Jim unclips them, making Pavel whimper and squirm, moaning quiet protests in Russian. 

Smirking, Jim bends down to do the job himself, biting Pavel’s left nipple. Pavel screams and squeezes harder, trying to milk Jim’s big dick for all it’s worth. Jim swirls the pebbled nub around his tongue and sucks on it, popping off a second later to give the other nipple the same treatment. Pavel’s fingers are trembling against Jim’s shoulders. He clearly wants to come. Jim’s cruel and doesn’t let him, just take turns nipping and sucking at the wet, rosy patches on his chest. 

Eventually, Pavel starts begging, “Please, please, keptin, _please_ ,” over and over again. He’s rocking so hard, bouncing so high, squeezing so tight. He’s _such_ a good fucktoy. Jim bites his left nipple again and comes with a ferocious grunt, slamming Pavel’s writhing hips right down and holding them there. Pavel squirms in his grasp, whimpering prettily as he’s filled with all of Jim’s cum.

As soon as he’s done, Jim picks Pavel off, loving how light he is and how easy he is to hold up. Jim’s cock slips out, drenched, trailing a bit of white with it, and Pavel tries to look down, shivering at the sensation. He bites his lip and looks at Jim pleadingly. 

Jim calmly picks up the chain and puts the clamps back on Pavel’s abused nipples, making him cringe and yelp each time. Then Jim pushes Pavel off and bends forward to pull up Pavel’s panties, then his pants, drawling lazily, “Put your shirts back on.”

Always a good ensign, Pavel does what he’s told. He looks like he’s going to cry. 

Jim growls, “Now go to my quarters and get on my bed, spread your legs and hold your pretty hole open for me. I’ll let you come when you’ve had two more loads.” And Pavel grins ecstatically, racing off the bridge.


	6. Kirk/Khan (D/S, 69)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU for BotanyCameos in which Khan is a cadet on the Kirk’s ship.

Khan Noonien Singh is, without a doubt, the luckiest cadet in Starfleet Academy. Not only does he get to serve a semester on the USS Enterprise—the flagship of the whole Federation—but he gets to be the lucky man the illustrious James T. Kirk has chosen. The captain’s sexual prowess is the stuff of legend, and it’s no small secret that he likes to indulge in the lower-level officers he gets assigned to him. One for each semester. Khan was barely out of his red uniform when his door buzzed. 

He never had the chance to answer it, because Captain Kirk came right in, locked the door behind himself and strolled right across the quarters, dragging a half-naked Khan by the elbow into the bedroom. He was quickly welcomed and introduced and offered something he would never refuse. Even though it was quite clear that he could say no and the captain would leave and never mention it again, Khan eagerly said _yes._

Ambitious doesn’t even begin to describe Khan. Rank and connections aside, Captain Kirk is incredibly handsome, just as easy on the eyes as the legends said, and he reeks of importance and power. Somehow, he’s still kind. 

Now he’s in Khan’s bed, head near the pillows, face buried in Khan’s crotch. They’re both on their sides, and Captain Kirk’s got one arm over Khan’s leg, holding it down, so that Khan’s knee’s pressed into his stomach. It’s awkward, but _wonderful_. Khan’s got his own mouth stretched wide over Captain Kirk’s cock, and it’s so big that if Khan didn’t have secretly engineered genes, he’d probably be choking up a storm. It’s absolutely huge, both thick and long, so much so that Khan can only get about halfway down, even with it pressing against the back of his throat. He doesn’t know how to deep-throat yet, but Captain Kirk says he’ll teach Khan how later.

Captain Kirk has his tongue in Khan’s ass, plundering his virgin hole, occasionally pulling out to trace the brim. Khan hasn’t been intentionally saving himself—he just never met a man before he considered worthy enough to let fuck him—but now he’s glad he waited. He can’t wait to give his virginity to Captain Kirk. Khan wants to be the best at everything, and clearly, Captain Kirk’s the _best_ at sex. Every time his tongue pushes into Khan’s tight hole, Khan’s whole body trembles.

He’s trying hard to return the favour, of course. It’s difficult to bob up and down, but he manages it, slowly, and he sucks when he can, encouraged by Captain Kirk’s pleased moans. He wants to do more. He wants to suck harder. But he’s being fucked by a warm, wet, probing tongue, and it’s all he can do to keep his sore jaw open. Captain Kirk’s cock is more of a soother than a lollipop—a gag in his mouth that he just sucks on lazily while he’s stimulated and pleasured. His eyes are heavy and his head’s foggy, but he’s determined to stay in control. His cock’s not even being touched. It doesn’t need to be. He feels pathetically weak and he half hates that, half wants more. 

He’d moan the captain’s name over and over again if he could, but instead, his cries are just muffled whimpers. He’s completely naked, but Captain Kirk’s completely dressed, black pants just tugged down for Khan to suck properly. Khan wants to wear a gold shirt someday. He wants to be Captain Kirk’s first officer. Someday, he’ll even be captain. 

For now, he’s a private sex-slave greedily sucking his master’s cock, and his orgasm builds shamefully quickly. He should’ve practiced fingering himself more for just this reason. He’ll have to practice more after this. His balls tighten, and he screams around the cock in his mouth, suddenly coming and bursting right against Captain Kirk’s face. 

Captain Kirk brings a hand up to lovingly pump out his cock while still tonguing his twitching hole, and Khan’s so overwhelmed that he nearly cries. His eyes are wet from sheer over-stimulation. He’s never felt so good in his life. 

Then Captain Kirk pulls off and pats his hip affectionately, pushing Khan’s head off. Khan makes a noise of protest; he hasn’t finished with it yet.

But then the captain’s heavy cock explodes on his face, and Khan closes his eyes just in time, sticky gobs hitting him everywhere. He feels inordinately proud of himself. He didn’t even give that good of a blowjob, but he got the captain off anyway. Captain Kirk purrs while he pours all over Khan’s face, “I don’t normally finish so fast, but with a pretty thing like you to look at, I’m lucky I lasted as long as I did.”

Khan smirks unabashedly, feeling good. Still, he’ll do better next time. Assuming there’ll be a next time. He opens his eyes halfway, even though there’s a heavy drop of cum on his left eyelid. Khan asks as calmly as he can manage, “Perhaps I better blindfold you next time?”

“Cheeky thing,” Captain Kirk laughs, bending down to kiss his nose. “But if that’s your subtle way of asking if there’ll be more, there’ll _definitely_ be more.” Then he slips off the bed and lightly pats Khan’s taut ass, earning a yelp. “Now, let’s get you washed up so I can show you my bridge.”


	7. Kirk/Spock (non-touch, captured)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock are captured and touch-starved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For Plyushka, as requested on my Primer. Warning for elements of voyeurism, slavery, and non-con.

It might’ve just been several hours, but it feels like it’s been days. Their masters are cruel, and even as Jim gets torturously close, Spock’s hands remain firmly tied behind his back. Jim’s are tied behind his as well, wrapped around the support beam just off center of their tiny cell. Spock’s trapped around a similar support beam, and the two are so close that their crossed legs are overlapping, their breath ghosting over each other’s face, their nipples just barely, almost able to touch when they arch just enough, when they try hard enough. But it’s a struggle and a strain, and just short of contact, they have to fall back, panting and _wanting_.

The aliens behind the one-way-mirror are nattering on, apparently pleased with their attempts, but Jim’s firmly trying to ignore the sounds. He’s hated them from the minute they captured his away team and locked the two of them in, stripped them down and pumped them full of... whatever it was. Hyposprays that made them weak-kneed and bleary-eyed. And now Jim’s trapped just centimeters away from, Spock, _Spock_ , naked and glistening with sweat and so fuckable it hurts...

Jim wants to be inside Spock so badly. He’d kill to have Spock inside him. He’s keening and crooning, and he can’t stand to be hard any longer—it’s been too long. He’s seen too much, wanted Spock too much. When he blocks out the aliens, all he can hear is Spock’s breathing, heavy and ragged, just like his. All he can see is Spock’s glorious body, pale and lean and long and perfect, firm and soft in all the right places. Spock’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, running, smooth, down to the thick patch of dark tufts that house his hard cock, jutting out, thick and lengthy and proud. Jim’s is just as hard, straining just as much. They can’t rub against each other properly—their waists are tied back just out of reach, but sometimes, when they shift their hips just enough, their tips will brush for the briefest of seconds. It’s enough to make Jim melt in a puddle of ecstasy, and he’s bucking forward against the bonds that hold him, wanting Spock so badly. 

“C-Captain,” Spock pants suddenly, normally calm voice hoarse with lust. He opens his mouth, but his pretty bow lips close a moment later, tongue darting out to lick them. He can’t say it. Whatever he needs. 

Jim just moans, “Spock,” and then again, “Spock, Spock, _Spock_ ,” like a pathetic, wanton mantra. He thrusts his chin forward again—their heads are the only things free enough to touch, and Spock meets him halfway. Kissing’s dangerous; they bump noses and don’t stop to breathe and clash teeth and take too much, give too much, _want_ too much. It makes Jim so, so horny as fuck, and he thrusts his tongue into Spock’s mouth and loves Spock’s laving against his, and he sucks on Spock’s tongue and wishes he were sucking Spock’s dick. Then he fucks Spock’s mouth with his tongue, and a second later, he stops to let Spock do the same. Then they have to part again, because they’re too damn close. 

Jim nuzzles the side of his face into Spock’s. He’s worse, he knows. He doesn’t have Vulcan control. They haven’t even touched him. Spock hasn’t. Not there, anyway. No one has. His poor cock is all alone and getting nowhere, and it’s still pulsing with the desire to empty. Jim releases a particularly loud moan, and he feels Spock tenderly kiss the side of his face. 

Then Spock purrs, “ _Come_ ,” in his ear: a gorgeous, sensual demand. He doesn’t know why Spock would say such a thing, why Spock would want them to, but then Spock launches into some scientific nonsense about, “It is... it is unhealthy for a human male to... to sport an erection for as long as you have... Captain, I...”

“Tell me again,” Jim begs, ignoring all that. Pleading. “Order me to come.”

“ _Come_ ,” Spock practically snarls, and Jim cries out, chest arching off the pole behind him. His cock bursts between them, hot streams of his release splashing along both of them, and a thick glob even hits Spock’s chin, and the sight alone makes Jim’s eyes roll back in his head and his vision go blank. He’s so satiated he could die right here, blissfully stupid and happy. 

When his vision returns to him, he’s lying in his own quarters, spent and limp on the floor. 

He jerks up on his elbows so fast that his head spins, which makes him drop back down with a painful clunk. He turns to his right to find Spock next to him, and the communicator he took down to the planet is lying on his other side, beeping. 

Jim opens it, groggily rubbing at his face. “Hello?”

“Captain?” Sulu’s voice rings. “The inhabitants of Ceti VII seem to have beamed the landing party back aboard. They say... they say thank you. You helped them with some study?”

Jim, stunned beyond belief, mumbles, “Er, gimme a minute. I’ll be on the bridge. No, an hour. Gimme an hour.” And he clicks the communicator shut. 

He turns to Spock, who’s still naked and still obviously hard, on his side and looking at Jim. His pupils are still dilated, eyes still half-lidded, cheeks still flushed. Jim shifts up close to him, mumbling stupidly and embarrassingly, “Uh, sorry...” They should probably get on the bed. It’s more comfortable. Or up. They should stand up. 

But Jim’s a foggy mess that just took a proverbial blow to the head. 

And now that he’s in the shocking afterglow, he’s pretty sure he’s fucked up his entire relationship with his first officer. 

Then Spock abruptly rolls on top of him, kissing him hard and bucking into him, and Jim thinks he might’ve actually done just fine.


	8. Bones/Chekov (D/S, watersports)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones accidentally leaves his sub tied up overnight.

Leonard is grumbling, “Shit,” under his breath the entire way back to sickbay. He really fucked up this time. He does fuck up occasionally, usually without ever admitting it, but this time he _fucked_. _Up._

He got so busy on his shift that he went back to his quarters right after without a word to any nurses, fuming over the general incompetence around him. Someone contracted a Rigelian flu, and it spread like wildfire. Total hassle.

He didn’t stop by his private office.

He hasn’t been there all night. 

That is _way_ too long, and he’s going to hell. He’s soooo going to hell. The communication system should still be working in there, but one can’t really send a communication with a gag in their mouth. 

He jerks open his office door and slips inside, immediately locking it behind himself. 

His boyfriend’s sitting on the floor, gagged. 

Bound.

Crying. 

Sitting in wet panties in a small puddle of...

Leonard spends one second just covering his face, feeling like the complete fucking asshole he is. Then he hurriedly walks over, pulling out the gag first. Pavel hiccups immediately, starting to sob fresh, even though the tears on his red cheeks look a little old and crusted. He’s blushing and trembling, looking utterly humiliated. His hands are tied behind his back, his upper thighs tied to his ankles, his legs spread and the white panties Leonard put on him yesterday soaked and clinging to his small, pink cock. His collar moves as his adam’s apple bobs, sucking in breath faster than usual. 

He wails quietly, “M-master, I am s-sorrryyy...”

“Shhh,” Leonard instantly coos, kneeling down and careful where he steps. There’s a towel over on the medical table, and he pulls it down to mop up the piss on the floor, gently padding Pavel’s thighs. Pavel’s crying and hiccupping and Leonard finds it way too adorable when he _should_ be horrified. Instead, he finds his pants tenting, and he has to force his voice not to show his lust as he soothes, “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left you so long...”

“I-I am a b-bad slaaawe...” Pavel sobs, as though this is somehow _his_ fault. Leonard feels distinctly like a monster. “S-sorry...” Pavel sniffs cutely, face screwed up. Leonard can’t resists bending down to kiss him, shoving in tongue right away. He can tell that Pavel’s lips are a little swollen from the gag, mouth dry and out of use. 

When he pulls back, he repeats, petting Pavel’s curls, “It’s not your fault. You were in here all night; it was bound to happen.”

“I tried to hold it,” Pavel whimpers. “B-But I... I...” But it obviously didn’t work. “I-I’m a bad b-boy...” Having cleaned him mostly up, Leonard tosses the soiled towel into a bin in the corner. He reaches around to undo Pavel’s bonds while Pavel nuzzles into him, mumbling profuse apologies. Leonard makes a mental note to refrain from any punishments for the rest of the week, no matter how good Pavel looks bound or spanked. 

When Pavel’s free, he just curls into Leonard, sniffing and shaking and generally looking ashamed. Leonard kisses his face and tells him not to, promising, “We’ll put you in a medical gown, and I’ll take you back to my quarters and feed you, okay? Then I’ll give you a bath, and you’ll be nice and new for your shift tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Pavel whimpers, “No, master, please—I-I can still be a good slawe... use me like zhat...”

“You get a break,” Leonard insists. He’s gruff and way too kinky underneath, but he’s not a monster. He uses his firm doctor’s-orders voice. Pavel pouts irresistibly. 

Pavel grabs him around the neck and tugs him down suddenly, so that he’s lying atop Pavel on the floor. Pavel’s legs are around his sides, and Pavel begs with his pretty curls haloing his head and his gorgeous nipples nice and pink, “Please fuck me, master.” But a second later, he’s blushing red and pulling back, “Oh! But I am dirty now, I d-didn’t zhink—”

Leonard finally snaps, “Shut up.” And Pavel’s mouth closes instantly. Leonard can’t take it, and he grumbles, “I’m not mad at you, and you’re not dirty. And I’m going to fuck you right now to prove it, and then I’m going to take you back and bathe you and feed you and you’re going to take my love, damnit!”

Pavel somehow manages to look simultaneously completely ashamed and incredibly overjoyed. He nods, and starts to say, “Zhank you, mas—” But he’s silenced with a hard kiss. Pavel licks at his mouth like a starving man, desperate for all the moisture. 

Leonard pulls up the wet panties, finding his dirty sub far too hot.


	9. Kirk/Khan (fingering, oral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For BotanyCameo, in which Khan is overwhelmed by his master’s attentions.

When Khan and his crew were first collared and sold into servitude, he was, naturally, _furious_. He fought every step of the way, the collar sending a sharp electrical charge throughout his body every time he did so, and every time he climbed back to his feet and snarled anew. Marcus—the man in charge of making the augments ‘harmless’—simply continued to up the charge. Eventually, the pain won out. Khan was sent to work, even though he vowed, somehow, to conquer this. 

And, somehow, he ended up in the bed of a sex god, with an employer he couldn’t have dreamed up better. 

His master is intelligent, handsome, and kind, the head of a powerful starship, and the potential white knight to all of Khan’s problems. Unlike everyone else in this bleak future, he seems to have a _conscience._ Some days, Khan’s sure that if he plays his cards right, if he can make his master fall for him enough, that master will set him truly _free_ again and help him save his crew.

Other days, Khan worries _he’s_ the one falling too deep. 

And today is one of those days, where he’s struggling to stay in control, struggling not to succumb to the pleasure, not to grow attached. 

But Jim is so, _so_ good to him. Khan’s breath is laboured, his pupils dilated, his lashes half-down and his cheeks burning, and he keeps gasping, bow lips open wide. He’s on his back in the sheets, the dark, anti-aggression collar tight around his pale neck. He’s otherwise completely naked. 

His legs are spread as wide as they’ll go. His feet are down, knees bent. One hand is lying next to his head, fingers curled into his palm. The other is over his mouth to try and stop the moans, the back of his hand wet with spit and bluntly indented with teeth marks. He doesn’t want to touch Jim—hold onto Jim’s head—thread his fingers through Jim’s hair. It’s too good. Jim’s hair is too soft. It would make him even harder, and he’s already so hard that he thinks he’s going to explode. 

His hard cock is engulfed in Jim’s perfect mouth, while Jim’s fingers are buried to the knuckle in Khan’s ass. 

It’s only two fingers, but oh, it’s _enough_. Every time Jim curls them, he finds Khan’s prostate expertly, stroking it and pressing into it, applying just enough pressure to make Khan _squirm._ And then there’s that mouth—that sinful mouth—hot and wet and tight around him. Jim deep-throats like a porn star. He hums, and he licks at the underside, and he sucks with all his might. Khan’s cock is constantly twitching in delight. It throbs inside the hot cavern around it, trembling and dribbling precum, wanting desperately to burst. Jim’s relentless. Jim sucks him and swallows him and teases his hole, until Khan breaks and groans, “ _Jiiim..._ ”

He can feel Jim smirk around him. He doesn’t have to look. He doesn’t want to look. If he sees those impossibly blue eyes grin up at him, it’ll be too much. It’s all too much. Jim’s pink lips were born for this. If Jim were the prisoner and Khan the controller, Khan would fuck him every night...

But instead, Khan’s the pet, falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of his perfect master’s inviting arms. His mind is such a hazy mess right now, all his hyper intelligence boiled down into a sticky pool of want and lust. He’s trying with everything he has not to buck his hips. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know where to go. He wants to grind up into Jim’s mouth, and he wants to rock back onto Jim’s fingers. It feels amazing. 

It goes on like this for as long as Khan can let it. He tries to hold off, tries to make it last. But his orgasm’s inevitable. Living with Jim is a constant slew of them. Khan perpetually smells of sex. Jim perpetually drips of it. Khan finds himself always purring things when he should be speaking, swaying when he should be walking. The thought of filling his captain’s mouth up with cum makes him heady. 

Sliding down Jim’s throat is one of the single greatest feelings Khan’s ever experienced.

Jim pulls off with a wet pop and nuzzles into Khan’s crotch, growling simply, “Come.”

And somehow, that’s what does it. Khan’s never been particularly subservient, but he obeys immediately. Jim tilts Khan’s dick up, and he comes all over his own chest, so hard that it even hits his chin, hot strings of it draping all over him. Jim keeps fingering him the whole time, making him shake with ecstasy. 

When he collapses a moment later, panting and spent, Jim purrs, “Good boy.”

Jim kisses his sticky stomach and brings a mouthful right up to him, sharing it between them. Khan knows he should feel humiliated. 

He doesn’t. He feels tired and content, and he thinks, as Jim’s fingers slip out of him, this future might not be so terrible after all.


	10. Scotty/Pavel (role-play)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scotty taught his student the art of preparation.

“No, no, no, laddie, you cannae add that until you’ve properly finished the preparation.” He taps the PADD, sending it back to the last screen. 

Pavel nods eagerly, his curls bouncing and almost brushing Montgomery’s cheek. Pavel’s sitting in a small desk tucked away in Montgomery’s office, facing the main desk, with Montgomery standing over him and leaning over his shoulder, checking his work. When it comes to Engineering, Pavel is a brilliant student. 

When it comes to not-very-imaginative-but-still-very-satisfying roleplay, Pavel is a scrumptious little bundle of yes-please. He puts his palms flat against the desk and looks up at Montgomery with determined eyes, saying, “I zhink I am ready, professor.” His eagerness is easily one of his most endearing features. 

“Oh, are you now? Ready for your presentation?”

“Da.” He nods, half-full of confidence and all-full of enthusiasm. So Montgomery grins and waves towards the front of their makeshift classroom, stepping away so Pavel can scrape his chair back and get to his feet. Sucking in a breath and straightening his gold uniform, Pavel walks over. 

He bends over Montgomery’s desk, legs parted and straight, ass high in the air. Perfect posture on a perfect body.

He reaches around and tugs his black, standard-issue dress pants down his ripe ass, exposing his round, pale cheeks to the humid air of Engineering. 

Montgomery sits down in Pavel’s old chair, because he has a feeling he shouldn’t be standing for this. Pavel’s straight out of a dream. He’s got the best ass in the universe, and he chooses to put it in front of Montgomery, arching his back just right and pushing it out, putting everything on display. He looks delicious. Why a young thing like that is playing around in Montgomery’s end of the pond is completely beyond him, but he’s not about to complain. He spreads his own legs, hand falling over his already-tented pants.

“So,” Pavel recites, reaching over to dip his fingers into the bowl of oil in the corner of Montgomery’s desk, “first zhere must be lube.” And he reaches back around to rub the thick liquid between his cheeks: a beautiful contrast of blank on near-white. Montgomery’s always been a little too close to his machines, and seeing his tools used like that goes straight to his cock. Now that’s a ship he wants to ride. He tries to keep his mouth shut while Pavel purrs, “Zhen I must use zhe lube wizh my finger, gently opening my hole.” He uses the oil-free hand to hold at the top, fingers trying to stretch both cheeks as open as possible. What a view. Montgomery can’t help himself; he groans. 

Pavel doesn’t falter for a second. He finds and presses his fingertip against his small, pink, puckered hole, slicking it all up with oil. It takes a few seconds for the tight muscles to yield, and then he’s pressing in further and further, sliding his index finger right up to the knuckle and moaning around it. The oil slides out around him, pooling in his pulled-down briefs, staining them.

Montgomery drags his chair closer, wanting a better look.

For a few moments, Pavel just pistons his one finger in and out, trying to hit different angles and pour as much oil in as possible. It’s probably cold, but Engineering’s hot. Then he pulls out and pushes a second finger inside, sighing, “Next I must use more fingers to try and spread myself open as much as possible...” There’s a pause, then he bites his lip over his shoulder and adds in a high-pitched, whining sort of voice, “...so my professor can fit his big dick inside my little ass...” And he wiggles his bum like some professional right out of the redlight district back home. 

Montgomery lifts a knuckle up to bite, palming his lap while Pavel scissors himself open and makes desperate, breathy little noises. His hole is ridiculously tiny, his channel always _so_ tight. It looks that way. Montgomery can remember how it feels. The oil’s overpowering; Pavel’s going to smell like one of Montgomery’s machine parts. Somehow, Pavel gets his miniature entrance reasonably open before he pulls his fingers out, leaning forward against the desk and crooning, “Done. ...How did I do, professor?”

Fucking _awesome_. Montgomery coughs, and it takes him a second to get back into character. He stands up and strolls over, like he’s going to examine his student’s work. His larger, calloused hands slide up the back of Pavel’s legs, up to that perfect ass, squeezing for good measure. He wants to say that Pavel’s perfect. 

But instead he sighs, “While you did great on your engineerin’ earlier, I’m afraid you fail this test.”

“What?” Pavel asks, neck craning and face looking crestfallen. His cheeks are flushed.

“Aye. You forgot a finger. Should use three when you’re as tight as you are.”

Pavel pouts, but his eyes lower, as though he’s mostly just mad at himself. 

He brightens back up as soon as Montgomery says, “Yep, looks like you’ll have to take an extra curricular assignment to catch up.” And by extra curricular assignment, he means his dick.

Immediately back to his earlier attitude, Pavel barks happily, “I accept!”

Which is perfect, because Montgomery’s already scrambling to pull out his cock before he pushes right inside.


	11. Khan/Chekov (fucking machine, bondage, D/S)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khan uses a harsh contraption on Chekov until he agrees to transfer to Khan’s ship.

Khan closes the apartment door fast, has to, locking it behind himself. The noises in the air are thick and endless: a constant stream of wet slapping sounds, whimpering, and Russian nonsense. The smirk’s on Khan’s face even before he reaches the bedroom, tossing his coat to the floor and heading for his work desk. There’s an empty PADD on it set to record that he takes. He walks back to the bed and sits on the end of it, reaching out to brush the sweat-matted curls out of his lover’s face. 

Pavel, poor, sweet little Pavel, looks up at him with eyes so dilated they’re nearly all black. Pavel’s face is turned in the pillows, on his stomach, his wrists and ankles tied in the air above him. He’s utterly naked and covered in drying and dried cum—the remnants of several earlier rounds. His knees are spread by a bar, and his cock, Khan knows from this morning, is tied tight beneath him. He’s sobbing and humping the mattress, the pre-programmed machine pounding him into it. It’s a heavy thing, bolted onto Pavel’s thighs, with a giant vibrator plundering Pavel’s stretched hole, all in and half out, more than Pavel could take the first few times he was fucked with it. He’s doing better this time—Khan was out for three hours, and he’s still conscious. 

He seems barely there, though, and he starts begging immediately, throat dry, perhaps from screaming himself hoarse, “John... John, please... please let me... please, I will be so wery good, I promise, ahhhh, John, _please_...”

Khan reaches to cup his cheek and whispers soothingly, “Shh, pet, shh. You’ve been very good. You’re not being punished.”

“I cannot take any more,” Pavel whines, twisting in his bonds to no avail. There’s a mechanical whirring sound from the machine, set on the highest volume, but Pavel’s shudders and the squeak of the mattress are just as loud. While Pavel whimpers, Khan checks behind him and grabs his cheeks, spreading them wide to make sure his hole’s still properly lubed, both with cum and an actual gel. The rim is stretched impossibly wide and an angry red, looking thoroughly abused, but he’ll make it. Khan pats his cheek approvingly—Pavel shrieks and twists again. 

“You know what you have to do to earn release,” Khan sighs. It comes out like a tired, benevolent master, not with any of the smugness he feels. Pavel breaks so easily, so prettily, but Khan will still opt for his mouth instead of his ass for most of tonight—he’s earned some relief. Khan rubs Pavel’s back with one hand while Pavel’s fucked over and over again far beyond his capacity. 

Pavel licks his lips. He moans, “But zhe Enterprise...” 

Khan slaps his ass again to shut him up—he breaks off in a gasp. “You can stay assigned to the Enterprise if you want, but if you’re going to be apart from me, I need to make sure you remember what it’s like to be _mine_ , and then I’m afraid I’ll simply have to fuck you all night. Now that I’m back, I’ll give you my real cock, of course, but should I grow weary of you between rounds, the machine will have to do...”

“Ohhhh,” Pavel whines, and he looks so desperately torn. “I lowe your cock, John, I do... but... but all night! I cannot take it!” Khan lifts one eyebrow, the single look that says: ‘you will.’

Khan’s a patient man when he has time to be. He sits and he waits, and a few minutes later, Pavel cries, “Yes, yes, I will go on your ship!”

“You will?” Khan repeats, looking pleased but insistent—he won’t take this offer lightly. 

Pavel nods furiously. His whole body is flushed. “I will—I will be yours, I always will be...”

Khan pushes the PADD over next to Pavel’s head, gets ready to hit the record button, and says, “Your name and rank, please, and your official request of a transfer.” Pavel gulps.

He licks his throat, and he moans, and then he tries to start again, clearly straining so hard to think straight—Khan doesn’t stop the machine. “I...” he pauses. “I, Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov... request... officially request st... station aboard zhe ship of John Harrison...” There he breaks off, writhing again and groaning. It isn’t that Khan thinks he’ll need the reminder, exactly, and he certainly wouldn’t need to be blackmailed, not sweet, little Pavel, who’d do anything at the mere sound of Khan’s voice. But it’s a fun prop to have, and Khan tosses it back to the desk. 

He gets behind his little boyfriend, and he clicks the button on the back of the machine that turns it off; it retracts out of Pavel’s ass, the clicking sound swallowed up by Pavel’s wail.

A few more released buttons, and Khan removes the equipment, dropping it to the floor beside the bed. He un-cuffs Pavel’s wrists and ankles, pulls the bar loose, and Pavel’s limbs all drop limply to the bed. Pavel’s whole body is shaking, and he sniffs, looking back like he’s unsure what to do with his life now that he’s not being fucked for Khan’s amusement. 

Khan drapes over him, kisses the back of his neck, and purrs, “You may come after you’ve had another of my loads.”

Biting his lip and looking torn again, Pavel asks, “Can I drink it instead?”

“You can drink all the ones after.”

Pavel nods obediently and lifts his ass up into the bulge in Khan’s pants, ready to prove his loyalty. 

When Khan inevitably gets himself a ship, he’s going to have a very fun time with his new first officer, particularly christening the captain’s chair and the captain’s quarters. He unzips his pants, and before he even goes in, Pavel’s moaning, “John...”

Khan bites the shell of his ear and corrects, just as his cock slams inside, “ _Khan_.”


	12. Khan/Kirk (D/S, corset)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk wears a corset for his boyfriend’s birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for pgnbri [on tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/)~

Jim’s breath hitches as the corset constricts, thin, careful boning digging so incrementally into his skin. Khan’s skilled fingers work up the crisscrossing lace, and each string he touches is pulled just that tiny extra bit taut. Jim’s eyes fall shut; his brain needs to focus on breathing. But then he opens up again—the uncomfortable almost-pain is more bearable when it’s balanced off with pleasure, and Khan’s handsome face always brings that. Jim fixes on his boyfriend’s eyes while he’s cruelly molded into curves he doesn’t have. 

When Khan reaches the top, he reties the bow. He’s arms are around Jim, hands working behind Jim’s back, while Jim’s fingers rest on Khan’s broad chest. When he breathes, their chests almost touch. Khan’s is covered in the usual thick, black turtleneck beneath his trench, and Jim’s is bare, the laced rim of the corset stopping just beneath his pebbled nipples. Khan’s hands slip down the curve of his spine, landing to rest on Jim’s hips. Jim’s panties have been removed, and when Khan first started on his corset, Jim though it would be, too. 

Instead, Khan’s made it impossibly tight, and Jim’s gone light-headed, eyelids drooping. He knew that no matter what birthday present he gave his boyfriend, it wouldn’t be enough, couldn’t be, not for an augment and a _sex god_ like Khan, but Jim didn’t expect...

He sucks in a laboured breath, and he leans forward to run his tongue over Khan’s plush bottom lip, so full and soft. Khan lets him play, then pulls him back, and Jim’s eyes flicker back to Khan’s ever-changing ones. Khan’s hand cups Jim’s ass, and Jim tries to press back into it, moaning as his cock drags along the bulge in Khan’s pants. Khan chuckles and purrs into his ear, “You’re a very, very naughty thing, _Captain_.”

Jim moans and presses his head into Khan’s cheek—that voice will be the death of him. So deep, so smooth, so _dripping with pure sex._ He licks his own lips and mutters, still unsure, “Then you like it...?” Because he wasn’t sure. He’s adventurous, kinky, but he didn’t ask, just showed up with frilled lingerie under all his clothes. By now, Khan should know he’s naughty. 

Khan chuckles and hisses, “Very, _very_ much.” One of his hands runs up Jim’s drawn-in side, the other pushes a finger between Jim’s crack, creeping lower and lower. Jim bites his lip when it reaches his hole, rubbing, dry, against it.

A surge of strength rushes through Jim; he knows he’s hot, and his boyfriend loves him, likes him in this; he kisses Khan’s cheek and half-moans, “Are you going to fuck me in it?” He rolls his hips for emphasis; he would very, very much like to be fucked now. 

But Khan grins at him and tells him, “No.”

Jim’s eyebrows knit together. He pulls back to look at Khan’s face properly, and Khan kisses him, quiets him, distracts him and grinds up into his almost painfully hard cock. Then Khan slips his hand away, and he pushes Jim abruptly off his lap. 

Jim stumbles to not hit the floor, lifting gingerly on his feet and his trembling thighs. He’s panting from the exertion of being so horny, and the corset makes it worse. Khan looks at him, then looks at the floor. 

Eying Jim’s pile of discarded clothes, Khan lounges back in his armchair, commanding like the tyrant he is, “No, I don’t think so. After all, we have dinner reservations.” His wicked grin is all Jim needs to pale, guessing the rest. “Now, why don’t you put those clothes of yours back on, and if you manage to make it through dinner, being, of course, a very good boy, I might just be persuaded to fuck your pretty brains out in the washroom.”

Jim frowns, fairly sure he’ll pass out before then. And he doesn’t want to wait. But it’s Khan’s birthday, and when Khan leans forward to kiss him, any protest Jim could ever have slips right out the window. 

Dinner’s going to be torture.


	13. Spock/Chekov (D/S, sounding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Spock sounds Ensign Chekov.

Pavel’s head falls back on his master’s shoulder, mouth open wide but too hoarse to scream properly, though it certainly doesn’t stop him from trying. There’s nothing else to do with the odd sensation of being fucked from the _inside out_. The thin rod Spock holds carefully above Pavel’s cock pushes impossibly deeper, and though it’s the same width all the way down, each new centimeter makes Pavel shiver and gasp. His body wants to arch up, but every time he moves, Spock hisses in his ear, “Stay.” And Pavel, like a good boy, stills in his master’s lap. 

He does his best not to melt into a trembling puddle as the rod begins to slip back out, the metal cool around his mushroom tip. The inside’s too overwhelming. Commander Spock is sticking a metallic instrument _inside his cock_. The thought of it alone makes Pavel’s eyes flutter, lashes falling half down and dilated pupils rolling up. His cheeks are hot, his lips kiss-swollen and wet from being licked and chewed. His ass is a convulsing mess; Spock hasn’t moved inside him since this ‘sounding’ business started, and Pavel knows better than to beg to be fucked. 

Oh, but he _wants_ to. He wants to bounce up and down on Spock’s unbelievably long, thick Vulcan cock, pulsing inside him with powerful, green blood. The way it stretches him apart and nestles just along his prostate is nothing short of maddening. But he doesn’t dare move. Firstly because he would be punished, and secondly because it might mess with the rod slipping back down his urethra. He isn’t stupid enough to jeopardize that. Dr. McCoy could probably repair any damage he caused, but how would he ever explain it? And there’re no taking chances when it comes to his dick.

So instead, he stays obediently still, hands resting back on Spock’s thighs, sitting, impaled in Spock’s lap, and whimpering helplessly as Spock skewers him from both ends. Spock stares quietly over his shoulder, observing his full cock like a scientific diagram. Pavel doesn’t even get to know if his total submission is pleasing his master. But that’s nothing new. At least it’s pleasing him. But the pleasure’s so torturously slow that it’s almost painful, and Pavel’s biting back tears of frustration.

“Are you enjoying these sensations, Ensign?” Spock asks smoothly, and Pavel bites his bottom lip, moaning his answer. 

“Yes, Commander.” He can feel Spock’s curt nod against him.

“Should I continue, then?”

Pavel’s mouth falls open, hesitating. Continue what, exactly? He doesn’t want to ask; this all started by asking for Spock’s _mentorship_ , and he’s supposed to be shutting up and listening, learning—Spock tells him he’s _too_ eager, sometimes, too brash and _human_. He licks his lips again and thinks; if Spock doesn’t continue with the rod, will he still fuck Pavel? Because Pavel wants that so desperately that it’s become a need. Or does Spock mean continue everything, and if Pavel ends one torture, will he lose both? Finally he decides to mumble a weak, “Nyet.” And then silently chides himself; sometimes, when his cock is as achingly hard as it is, he forgets that Spock would prefer Federation Standard—he can’t be lazy and slip into Russian. He’s just overwhelmed. Spock pushes the rod so far down that his fingertips brush over the head of Pavel’s cock, and Pavel’s breath catches, gasping soundlessly. 

His head lolls back on Spock shoulder. Oh, but it is _good_. He is glad he listens, learns new things. The ‘Sciences’ Spock governs, that Spock can teach him, are so very broad and ever-reaching, with so many wonderful applications. He was right to ask for Spock’s tutelage. He struggles not to buck into either force, and he’s rewarded for his patience by a new pace; Spock begins to bob the rod up and down, essentially fucking Pavel’s cock. Pavel didn’t even know men _could_ fuck like this. His hips are starting to shake beyond his control, and Spock, ever careful, places one large hand over one of his thighs, holding him down. He simply delights in the touch; Spock’s fingers are long and his palms are warm and his hands are half the gateway to his soul; they always send an inexplicable spark of pleasure up Pavel’s spine. He clenches around Spock’s dick in thanks and forces himself to be good for his master. 

But eventually, the odd fucking becomes too much, and Pavel inevitably loses it, bucking up and held firmly down, and Spock jerks the rod out just in time. Pavel splatters his own lap and keens loudly, twisting under the new freedom and rubbing himself in and grinding against Spock’s enormous cock as much as he can. He rides it until he’s a panting, limp, spent mess of an officer, slumping back against the warm, bare chest behind him. For a moment, he worries that he’s misbehaved, but then Spock strokes his thigh in the usual way, and Pavel knows that he’s done well. 

Spock places the rod on the side table and murmurs, “Fascinating.”


	14. Kirk/Spock (AU, mermen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Spock plays with Jim’s aquatic alien body.

He leans closer, mesmerized, as the spindles begin to grow in his fingers, thickening and lengthening the more he strokes them. There’re a dozen of them, all bunched together, draped like decoration, like pretty, greenish curls. They shudder and hum beneath Spock’s fingertips, responding to every little touch. They’re smooth and slick in his hands: a strange, new texture. Jim’s body is all _new_ and _beautiful._

James Kirk—or Jim, as he says he prefers—is one of a rare, Federation-sanctioned race, being transported on the Enterprise to a new planet. The others are down in the pools of the recreation deck, but Jim... Jim wanted to ride in the captain’s quarters.

So Jim is sprawled out in Spock’s bathtub, his long, elegant tail like something out of the Terran legends: merfolk from the sea. The top half of Jim’s body looks even more human than Spock’s, but the bottom half is like a fish, scaled and sparkling in the light, immersed in water. Just beneath the surface, Spock rubs over the mass of spindles at Jim’s crotch, and Jim moans wantonly and arches into the touch. 

It’s research, Spock tells himself. It’s a thin excuse. But over the course of this trip, they’ve grown very close, and Spock must admit to a certain... _fascination_... with the alien’s biology. Spock rubs and strokes the spindles as he would a human phallus, and just as Jim told him, they begin to swarm together. The more he touches them, the larger they become, and they straighten and intertwine with one another, wrapping tightly to form one long, thick appendage, jutting proudly out of Jim’s front, peaking prettily out of the water. It shimmers like Jim’s scales, and Spock’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at the makeshift cock, surprisingly not that different than his own. 

Jim’s hand reaches out for his bare shoulder, and Jim squeezes his bicep, beckoning him closer and purring, “Spock... Spock, I’m ready...” His Federation Standard is flawless, and his blue eyes are nearly impossible to look away from. Spock’s drawn in for a light, lingering kiss, while their fingers find each other; the two different kisses from their two different worlds. Jim’s tongue is skilled, and it makes Spock shiver. 

He pulls back and he rises, stepping into the tub. Jim lounges beautifully against the brim, hips steady and waiting. Spock’s feet bracket his sides, and slowly, Spock climbs down, sinks to his knees, hovering over Jim’s shaft, his own body already prepared and waiting. Another time, he will have to have Jim stimulate him in a similar fashion. 

This time, Spock simply pushes down onto Jim’s cock. When it breaches him, they both gasp; Spock deep and groaning and Jim light and airy. He bucks his hips, and Spock grunts, slowly lowering himself, taking more and more. The shape of it is very odd; it feels braided, wrapped and twisted, nudging smoothly along his own channel and pulsing inside him: warm and alive. When Spock reaches the bottom, Jim’s scales are cool along the cheeks of his ass, the water ebbing at him gently. 

He rocks his hips once, and Jim reaches for his waist, holding on. Spock bends for another kiss, capturing both of Jim’s hands; for something so _new_ and _undiscovered_ , it feels so very _right_ : like they’ve been doing this for years. Jim’s cock fills him perfectly: melds to him just so. He’s complete.

When their lips part, Jim whispers, “I like Vulcans,” in a garbled tone, like being submerged underwater. His cock trembles excitedly inside Spock’s ass, and he lifts his fingers to Spock’s temples, murmuring, “I want all of your gifts... can we meld?”

Spock nods slowly as he begins to move on Jim’s length, already finding the right points on Jim’s face.

He moves with Jim, and he says the ancient words, and they become one.


	15. Spock/Kirk, Khan (voy, bondage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Khan binds and watches his pets on the bridge.

Both yeomen are tied in front of him, right in the middle of the bridge for all to see, so busy wrapped in one another that they hardly seem to notice. The only time their mouths have left each other’s, it’s been to kiss other places, to lick along shells of round or pointed ears, to nuzzle into each other’s faces or to press their foreheads together. Now is one of those moments, where both their mouths are open, unconnected, panting against each other’s cheeks as they croon and moan. 

At first, Khan was sure Jim would be the instigator. He’s wilder, less tamed, generally hornier and one to rub his cock on anything Khan gives him, though, of course, this Vulcan is his _favourite._ But Spock isn’t that different, now; he ruts into Jim just as much, making the same fierce, greedy sounds, licking just as much of Jim’s face as Jim licks of his. 

They’re the prettiest pets Khan’s ever had, and they’re particularly pretty when they’re together: two attractive puzzle pieces that join to form a masterpiece. He has them bound together, each pair of arms and ankles tied behind their backs. Their thighs are a tangled mess, their cocks encased in manacles, like the handcuffs Khan so likes to play with. Their nipples have both been pierced and now share the same hoops, so they can’t be apart more than a few centimeters—not until Khan releases their bonds, anyway. A double-ended leash has been fixed between their two collars, but they can never get far enough to pull it taut anyway, not even with their nipples pulled as much as possible without tearing. 

They wouldn’t tear. Khan doubts it’s even occurred to either one to pull away; they’re so busy kissing and grinding and writhing like the pathetic fucktoys they are, greedy for any point of contact. He has no doubt that they’ve already bonded: slipped into one another’s minds. It’s his own fault for letting them in the same room with the Vulcan’s hands untied. He doesn’t particularly mind. Let them coo and trill for each other whenever they’re apart; it only makes them hotter when they’re together. 

From the helm, one of Khan’s officers calls to him the coordinators of the vessel they’re chasing, now significantly closer. He waves his hand—they’re all augments, far smarter than the contents of that ship—they can handle it. He can afford to leave his attention on his entertainment. 

He chuckles aloud when Spock bucks too hard and topples them over, Jim landing on his back and pulling Spock atop him. They whine simultaneously, pebbled nipples doubtless sore from the tug of falling, but after a bit of nuzzling, they’ve moved on. They’re kissing and grinding their hips together again, letting a constantly litany of wet noises and metallic clicking sounds echo along the walls of the bridge. Neither seems particularly discouraged by the tight binding around their cocks; they’ve both learned to simply take what they can get, and for now, that’s each other. And that’s _always_ enough. 

After a bit more fruitless dry humping, Spock rolls off, and they’re on their sides. Spock’s back is pretty enough, but it blocks the brunt of the view. Khan knows they’re still going, but the whole point is to see it.

Khan rises from his chair and marches over, pulling them both up by the hair and ignoring their whimpers. He rights them and pushes them back together, as though they need any help.

He moves back to his chair and watches them happily start again, alone in their sad, warm universe.


	16. Sarek/Spock/Jim (MU, oral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek trains Spock and Jim for their lowly Empire futures.

Spock’s skills are improving, but, unfortunately, they’re still a far cry from the Empire’s usual standards. If Sarek wants to fetch as high a price as he truly thinks his son is worth, Spock will require _much_ more training.

In the interest of speeding that process, Sarek threads his fingers through his son’s soft hair, gently nudging Spock back by the heel of his palm against Spock’s forehead. Spock immediately stills, stretched jaw going lax and bobbing motions halting, his tongue falling flat against the floor of his mouth. He’s pushed off of Sarek’s cock with a wet popping noise, and as Sarek’s hand recedes, Spock settles with his cheek against Sarek’s knee. Clear disappointment is all over his dark eyes—another issue he will have to work on—Vulcan underlings should never display so much _emotion_. Sarek doesn’t comment further on Spock’s inadequacy; he knows Spock’s already aware and ashamed of it. 

Instead, Sarek pats Jim, nestled against his other knee. His legs are as open as they can be to accommodate both yeomen—one in training and one well skilled—and his robes are parted to expose his crotch. Jim glides forward with seamless composure, mouth opening along the way. 

He slips onto Sarek’s cock with a practiced ease, and he immediately begins to work up and down, far more vigorously than Spock’s own motions. Spock watches intently as Jim swallows around his mouthful, cheeks hollowing out and dragging on each upward stroke. His fingers splay around Sarek’s inner thighs, thumbs idly massaging Sarek’s heavy balls, and Sarek pats Jim for it—showing the approval Spock always wants to earn. Even though it’s a mere training exercise: a simple demonstration, Sarek can’t help but relax in his chair: Jim is _very_ good at giving pleasure. Sarek, a proper Vulcan despite his role as an Empire master, doesn’t show his desire on his face. He merely pets Jim as a reward, encouraging the full show. _This_ is how Spock must learn to pleasure his superiors. Spock’s status as a mixed breed, a mutt, automatically delegates him to the lowest wrung, but he can at least learn to be an expensive one and eventually work his way back up again. 

He makes an easy sound in the back of his throat a few minutes later: something between a growl and a whine. Jim doesn’t stop, not for a moment, but his blue eyes flutter open halfway, darting back. His cheeks are pink, lips swollen and bright with spit: he knows how to look pretty. Spock has always been gorgeous in his own right, but he hasn’t yet learned to sell that beauty quite like Jim has. He hasn’t learned to mask his own attraction, either, and he looks at Jim with too much longing before his eyes plead up to Sarek.

Sarek sighs. He does like to make his son happy, but as much as he enjoys watching the two of them play, it isn’t much of a learning experience for them. Instead, he pats Jim’s cheek around the bulge of his own cock, nudging Jim’s face aside, and he grips the back of Spock’s head to pull him closer. It’s difficult to fit the two of them in, but they manage, arms and legs twisting with one another; they always fit well together. Spock kisses the base of Sarek’s cock, catching a corner of Jim’s lips on the way, and then he just sort of buries his face in the dark, coarse hair, awaiting further instructions. 

That’s precisely one of his problems. Jim, far more involved and anticipatory, pulls off suddenly, and he nuzzles his face into the head of Sarek’s leaking, green cock while he mumbles softly, “Lick your father’s balls, Spock.” And Spock nods like obeying a captain. Satisfied, Jim opens up and swallows his prize anew. 

Spock begins to nip and suck at Sarek’s sac, fitting as much in his mouth as he can and moaning subtly each time Jim’s chin hits him. It’s a messy job, but he’s trying.

Sarek leans back to enjoy the effort. Someday, Spock will be worth quite a bit. But if that never happens, he supposes, he could always sell the two as a package deal; _that_ would be worth a moon.


	17. Kirk/Khan (Bondage, watersports)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is deliberately bad for his rough games with Captain Khan.

Jim’s head lifts when the light fills the tent, streaming across the rocky floor and onto his crossed legs. He’s been tied to the post in the middle for the past hour or so, hands bound tightly behind his back and around it, but for once, it’s not a restraint he minds. It’s better than the cage around his cock, anyway.

But his lover asked if he could handle the full scale of _Khan Noonien Singh,_ and Jim, unflinchingly, said _yes._

As Captain Khan dips into the little leader’s tent, the fabric door falls shut behind him. These aliens don’t have much, but what is theirs, they’ve offered up to Khan and his crew in exchange for their vast knowledge. The storms that regularly plague this planet will no longer be an issue, and now that all the work’s done—no more than a few dozen minutes worth of an augment’s genius—it’s time to enjoy the native hospitality.

Jim’s been waiting to share that enjoyment too long, and he arches back along the pole, chest pushed forward, bare legs spreading to welcome his boyfriend to him. Khan strolls closer, fully clothed in the usual dark ornaments and already wearing a smirk. When he lowers down, balanced on his feet and leaning on his knees, Jim tries to lean forward for a kiss.

He can’t reach, of course, but Khan is kind enough to slip a finger beneath his chin, tilting him just right. Khan thumbs his cheeks and ghosts a too-chaste peck over his lips, and Jim _moans_ , wanting _more_.

Khan places a harder kiss to Jim’s cheek, turning his face aside, and moves to his ear to nip at the shell, purring in that lilting _pure-sex_ of a voice, “Are you ready to put on your big boy panties, James?”

Solely because Jim’s so very much enjoying their game, he shakes his head. Khan chuckles and places a kiss to the base of his ear, then croons, “But you know how much your beloved master likes to see you in all your pretty lingerie...” Jim’s thighs tremble at the thought; right now, he could very much use the tantalizing softness of silk and lace brushing his cock. It’s engorged and bound too tightly to be of any use, just like he’s been all along—he doesn’t know how long he’s been hard, but it feels like _hours_. Bones would kill him for this. He doesn’t care. He can handle it rough, and he wants to _play._

He’s punished for his insolence, of course; he’s slapped across the face, hard enough to jerk him aside and to make him gasp and leave the skin to sting. He’s backhanded the other way, and Khan asks again, tone deceptively light, “Are you sure you don’t want to look nice for me? We could dress you back up after, no one would ever have to know what a naughty thing you were below that...” But Jim stubbornly shakes his head and lifts his eyes.

He looks at Khan, gorgeous, hot-as-hell Khan, and hisses, “I want to stay naked, so it’s easier to fuck me.” He’s sure the lust is painted all over his face; Jim doesn’t even bother trying to hide it. Anyone would want a man like Khan bending over them, whispering obscenities in their ear. Even the thick, musky scent of him, more poignant with the sweat of wearing a black trench in the alien heat, makes Jim dizzy and desperately want to come. He likes being held back, but that doesn’t make the situation any easier. Khan grins at him and pets one of his red cheeks, and Jim nuzzles into the touch, kissing his lover’s palm.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Khan murmurs, and Jim’s heart sinks, cock twitching in distress. That hurts, like every little movement does; the cold metal bars are thick and tight around his flesh, now pink and swollen and red from cutting into the rings. A part of Jim enjoys the pain, even though he knows it’d be better if it were actually getting him anywhere, if release were actually in his grasp. It isn’t. Khan lifts his head for another kiss, and Jim takes what he can get, surging back into Khan’s bow lips without a second thought.

Khan kisses like a king. As soon as his tongue’s in Jim’s mouth, Jim’s down for the count, squirming against his bonds and pressing himself back up to respond, throwing all his pent up frustrations into Khan’s body. At first, Khan’s good to him. Khan kisses him back and pets his face and holds him still, runs long fingers through his hair and runs warm hands down Jim’s body. Then he’s plucking at Jim’s nipples, and Jim dissolves into helpless moans and whimpers; they’re still sensitive from how tightly they were clipped this morning. Khan rubs them into pebbles and tugs with a cruel brutality that leaves Jim’s legs scrambling, whole body squirming. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or sad when Khan’s torturous hands move on.

A moment later, he’s utterly elated. Khan carefully unbinds the forward cage of Jim’s cock, leaving only the back ring. It’s enough to crush any hope at release, but at least it leaves the rest of his shaft free to feel Khan’s smooth fingers, wrapping firmly around him.

Khan squeezes Jim’s engorged member, and Jim cries out from a heady mix of pain and pleasure. It’s bliss anytime Khan holds his cock, but it’s so horrible like this, when he’s bound and unable to respond. Khan starts to pump him vigorously, and Jim jerks almost violently against the pole, alternating between grimaces and moans. Jim’s furiously humping Khan’s hand in no time, panting and nearly crying from frustration. Amidst all the rapturous agony, Khan softly kisses his forehead. He’s reminded with casual warmth, “I really think you should agree to wear the panties, Jim. The only way I’m going to let you come is if you do it inside them.” Jim’s mind flutters with a flurry of images, of trying to stuff his painfully hard dick inside a little thong and trying to keep his balls from spilling out. He thinks of wetting the front of them and having the sheer fabric cling to his skin, and then he thinks of Khan shifting aside the little string in the back and licking his tight hole...

Jim’s _almost_ there. He’s finally shut his eyes, even though he hates to look away from his Adonis of a lover, but they’re getting moist and he’s going to ruin his cheeks. His teeth are grit tightly together, hips fucking Khan’s hand in rapid succession. But if he agrees to cover his cock in lace and frills, all _this_ will be over...

He knows there’ll be other rounds. Endless games. But he’s so immersed in this one, and he’s stubborn and strong and stands his ground, even when he’s slapped again. He welcomes the burn: more sensations to shiver down to his cock. 

It ends too abruptly. Khan’s hand lets go, and Jim lets out a strangled cry, desperate for more—he humps the air to try and follow, dick bouncing off his stomach. Khan’s standing, smirking like he owns the universe.

“You’re a naughty boy, Jim,” he muses, and he ruffles Jim’s hair. Jim growls and leans his head back against the pole, ready to explode. 

Khan reaches down to pry open Jim’s jaw. Khan holds it like that with one hand while the other works on the front of his pants, and Jim’s pulse jumps—apparently they’ll be employing a few more choice fetishes. As Khan slides the zipper down, he purrs, “Do you know what we do with naughty boys in my crew, Jim?” Jim shakes his head, lips still parted wide. His tongue’s licking them in eager anticipation. 

Khan pulls out his cock and hisses, “We piss on them.”

And Jim moans as the stream starts to pour.


	18. Spock/Stonn (69)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Stonn practice for future t’hy’las on each other.

Spock is close, _very close_ , and as they aren’t bonded, there’s no way for Stonn to know. Unless, of course, it’s palpable in other ways—is Spock’s body reacting? Is he tensing, shifting, speeding up? He can’t be sure, not with how fuzzy his concentration’s become, and though he tries to focus on his own curiosity, he doesn’t stay long. As soon as Stonn sucks on his cock again, Spock shudders and is reduced to nothing, a shivering mess that can barely hold itself together long enough to follow suit. 

He could, of course, pull his own mouth off of Stonn’s engorged dick and warn him of Spock’s inevitably impending orgasm, but something tells him Stonn wouldn’t appreciate the interruption. When Spock so much as slows his constant bobbing motion up and down Stonn’s lengthy shaft, Stonn growls deeply in warning. Though Spock enjoys the sensation of being hummed around, the last time he pulled off, Stonn nipped at him, and Spock now knows better than to invoke the threat of Stonn’s teeth.

So he thrusts his own lax throat up and down on Stonn’s cock like a good boy, sucking heartily whenever he has the chance. Stonn’s skin has a bland, faintly salty taste, and the masculine stench of his crotch is heavy in Spock’s nostrils. His cheek is resting on Stonn’s inner thigh, the other leg blanketing his face, Stonn’s naked body lined up with his and his own legs spread around Stonn’s head. As much as Spock struggles to master this new art of pleasuring a partner, Stonn is excelling at it; he’s exuberant and determined and has even squeezed and kneaded the warm cheeks of Spock’s ass a few times. Spock can’t coordinate himself enough to do more than hold on. It’s difficult enough keeping his hips still and not humping Stonn’s face like a wild sehlat. Clearly, if Spock has any hope at all of ever pleasing a t’hy’la, he must practice extensively. Fortunately, Stonn seems more than happy to oblige.

Stonn stops suddenly, pulling off Spock’s trembling dick with a wet pop—Spock whines in frustration around his own mouthful—he was _so close_. But Stonn is kind and continues to lick at him whilst asking huskily, “How long did you say your parents would be gone?”

Spock pulls off of Stonn’s cock despite the growl it earns him and explains, “I did not specify, but I believe we should have another several hours.” Stonn nods thoughtfully, then reaches down to awkwardly grab at Spock’s hair, clearly trying to impale him again.

Spock will be an obedient t’hy’la, and for this exercise, he shows as much and swallows Stonn’s heavy cock anew. Stonn follows suit, and they resume sucking at nearly the same time—Spock shudders in appreciation. 

He whimpers loudly a moment later, and though the sound’s muffled by the cock in his mouth, he’s sure Stonn must know what’s happening, because Spock can _feel_ his body jerking to life. He loses controls of his hips and bucks once into Stonn’s mouth, bursting a moment later, and he’s so busy being dizzy that he doesn’t even care when Stonn rolls them harshly over, putting Spock on his back. Stonn, kneeling over him, quickly begins to slam into his face whilst busily sucking his convulsing cock, and Spock happily takes the abuse while Stonn milks out his release. He wonders faintly what he tastes like, but supposes he’ll find out soon enough. 

In the meantime, as Stonn lightly licks at Spock’s flagging dick, Spock does his best to pleasure his partner, more than eager to return the favour.


	19. Khan/Bones (rough)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bones returns to Earth, Khan jumps on him.

McCoy’s hardly through the doors when Khan has him up against them, already snarling the sequence to make them snap shut and lock. McCoy gets half a grunt out, and the rest is snatched away in Khan’s mouth—the fierce kiss is a demand for silence. McCoy’s a worthy opponent and still tries to get away, but Khan’s already wrestled his pants down, already turned him and slammed him against the cool metal, already shoved inside him. McCoy’s scream is music to Khan’s ears. He’s lubed himself up, of course; he’d never make it in if he didn’t. But McCoy isn’t prepared and his channel’s _so tight_ and he’s dry around Khan’s hard cock. It doesn’t matter. Khan’s too frustrated to care. McCoy’s a big boy; he can take it.

He swears fiercely and growls, “You’re an ass,” but they both know the good doctor’s not going anywhere. He likes it rough, said so when this first started, argued that Khan’s strength would be an asset, not a hindrance—said Khan could bat him around any time and he’d only get harder. It’s true, even now when he pretends to fight. Their safe word is long forgotten, and McCoy scrambles for purchase along the door and tries to push Khan away, only serving to impale his firm ass further on Khan’s beast of a dick. 

Khan grabs a fistful of brown hair and jerks McCoy’s head back, exposing a long neck to play with. He runs his teeth along it while his hips pound McCoy into the door hard enough to bruise. McCoy reaches one arm back and tries to grab Khan’s hair too, but a little hair pulling never moved Khan anywhere. He bites down into McCoy’s shoulder, sharp enough to draw blood, and McCoy’s protests die into a groan. Khan pins him flat against the door and grinds into him whilst sucking in a mark—they never know when McCoy’ll be called away again, back up to the stars. _Where Khan can’t go._ Not with his record. They heard his case and they said he’s free, but he’s not _really_ , stuck here on the ground in the midst of Starfleet security, and he takes out that anger on his _‘boyfriend’_ , a man who gets to travel where no one’s gone before.

When he gets there, he’ll be littered in Khan’s marks, inarguably claimed. Khan moves on to bite at his jaw, ignoring the scratch of two day’s worth of stubble—he likes his doctor scruffy. Or clean-shaven. Or just about anything, really, particularly when trapped in his arms. McCoy mutters, “Fuck,” and retracts his grip on Khan’s dark bangs; both hands are sliding down to his front. Khan snarls a warning and jerks on McCoy’s hair again, bending McCoy’s neck all the way back, nearly snapping it, but McCoy still touches himself—Khan can tell from the moans. 

Khan relinquishes his hold in favour of reaching between McCoy and the door, snatching up both of McCoy’s wrists. He shoves them up and pins them to the metal, and McCoy grunts in frustration and struggles, but fighting Khan’s strength is futile. Khan hisses, “You’ll come when I let you,” and grinds into McCoy in fervent circles, his cock buried balls-deep in McCoy’s tight ass. He can feel the taut cheeks against his skin, feel the pulsing, molten-hot channel around him, and he tights his grip on McCoy’s wrists hard enough to cut off circulation—a warning to behave. The _Enterprise_ ’s last trip took nearly a month, and for at least the next twenty-four hours, this body is Khan’s _toy._ He missed it, even if he won’t admit that aloud, and he slides his long cock out halfway, only to shove it back inside.

McCoy grunts and pants, “I can’t believe I looked forward to this...” But he’s moaning in clear pleasure the next minute, even still tinged with pain; Khan only hits the right angle occasionally. His absentee boyfriend will have to earn better treatment for the next round. Right now, this is just about scenting a mate and catching up and punishing a man who has what Khan wants— _the stars_ —and Khan pours every last square millimeter of fury into McCoy’s handsome body. McCoy, to his credit, takes it with minimal screams, and a few more thrusts in and McCoy’s participating, shoving himself back. Khan isn’t fooled and doesn’t release his hands. 

Khan bites his ear and purrs into it, “Come. _Now_.” McCoy shivers and tenses and looks like he wants to resist, but _can’t_ , not under the on slaughter of Khan’s cock, suddenly focused solely on that one sweet spot that always makes McCoy writhe and moan like a bitch in heat—

McCoy throws his head back when he roars, his ass spasming wildly and his pants clearly filling; Khan, pleased, fucks him the whole time he comes. Khan even kisses his cheek: a parody of gentleness. Khan kindly lets McCoy spill himself and groan to a stop, but Khan doesn’t once stop going. 

He keeps pounding his favourite fucktoy against the makeshift wall, intent on drawing out at least one more shaky orgasm before he surrenders to his own. McCoy knows this is the pattern. As soon as Khan lets his wrists go, he’s touching himself again. This time, Khan lets him, but doesn’t at all let up—the welcome home party has just begun.


	20. Sulu/Chekov (oral)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chekov licks ice cream off Sulu’s crotch in the hot summer.

The sweltering sun makes a bigger mess of Hikaru’s cock than Pavel does; it’s melting all the ice cream into sticky white rivers that taste _delicious_ beneath Pavel’s tongue. The first thing they did when they discovered their shore leave on Earth would be in the middle of July is Synthesize a bucket of ice cream to counteract the heat, or at least, attempt to.

...Well, no. The first thing they did was fuck in the washroom at the shuttle port, darting past all those curious about the epic adventures of the Enterprise in favour of the sanctity of a toilet stall. Pavel begged his boyfriend to take him hard against the wall, and he was reward with bruising force, enough to shake the stall door nearly off its hinges. Then they straightened themselves out and caught a transport to Hikaru’s apartment—Pavel’s place being long since abandoned—and he’s still not quite used to calling Hikaru’s place _his_ too. After all, they don’t share quarters on the Enterprise. ... _Yet_.

They share this little apartment, with its wide windows and its grand bed and its flat, sterile bedroom near the top floor. Even with the cooling unit on full blast, the air isn’t nearly as well-conditioned as they’re used to in their top-of-the-line ship. But ice cream will do in a pinch. Vanilla ice cream. One of Pavel’s absolute favourite things, right up there with his boyfriend’s magnificent cock. 

Hikaru’s been hard for an impressively long time, perhaps because every time Pavel starts to suck Hikaru’s dick properly, he gets distracted a moment later by stray trickles of sugar. He pulls back and laps that mess away, running his tongue flat all around the base of Hikaru’s cock, sucking even through the patch of dark pubic hair and the taut skin of Hikaru’s balls. Pavel drinks everything he can, and when Hikaru’s crotch is glistening from spit alone, Pavel reaches blindly for the carton of ice cream. He scoops some more of the semi-melted broth out with his fingers and splashes it back along Hikaru’s skin, and he licks at it even as he pours. Hikaru sucks in a breath and shoots a hand into Pavel’s hair, grabbing his curls, but Pavel’s never minded a little hair-pulling. He’ll take Hikaru’s hands on him any way he can get. He glances up through his lashes to grin, and Hikaru’s head drops back into the pillows, swearing loudly, “ _Fuck._ ”

“You taste so good, Hikaru,” Pavel sighs, licking his way up the shaft again and running his palm along it to spread the remnants of desert. Pavel nuzzles into it when he moans, “I hawe missed your dick.”

“You had it on the Enterprise,” Hikaru grunts, but Pavel just clicks his tongue. He might be only an ensign, but Hikaru’s in the chain of command, and both pilot and navigator are vital jobs; they’re serving far more than they’re off, and it’s tiring up there, and they don’t always have the same shifts, and Pavel likes shore leave because it gives him a chance to _just be off with Hikaru._ They could laze in bed like this all day and it wouldn’t matter. Flushed with his own giddy daydreams, Pavel croons and moves up to kiss the spongy head of Hikaru’s cock. Hikaru’s hips quiver but don’t buck up. He’s good that way, very good. Or maybe he’s just very used to having Pavel’s face in his crotch...

Pavel swallows his dick down to the root and hums delightedly around it; Pavel can taste the faint vanilla, even though he thought he’d gotten it all. When Pavel groans, his throat constricts, but he knows how to take Hikaru’s cock better than he knows the stars he steers through, and he doesn’t choke. He starts to bob up and down, just the way he knows Hikaru likes, and he sucks along the way and looks up again to tell his beloved boyfriend that he’s ready to get a little seed with his cream. Hikaru looks down at him and moans, “Fucking love you, babe.”

Pavel smiles around his mouthful, unable to return the sentiment and unwilling to relent his prize. He just keeps going, sucking and licking and taking everything he can, burying his nose in Hikaru’s crotch each time and making his swollen lips messier and messier. Hikaru has such a perfect cock: big, and thick, and so right in his mouth...

Hikaru comes with a choked cry, and Pavel trills in happiness and swallows instantly, wanting all of it, every drop. He sucks and he sucks and he bobs away, drinking everything he can, until Hikaru tugs him off by his curls and mumbles hoarsely, “You’re a monster.”

Pavel chuckles and practically slithers up his lover’s body, humping Hikaru shamelessly along the way. There’s no need for clothes when they’re together like this, and every bit of Hikaru’s body excites him. Pavel nips a loving kiss into Hikaru’s jaw and murmurs, “Love you too.”

Hikaru sighs, “I’d hug you, but it’s too hot.”

Pavel laughs and reaches back for the ice cream container, ready to finish the contents.


	21. Kirk/Spock (lactation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim drinks from Spock instead of rations.

Really, this is all Jim’s fault, and he knows it. If he hadn’t stopped to chat with the native aliens (that they completely weren’t supposed to interact with, but after their shuttle crashed outside the settlement, the prime directive was already pretty tattered) they probably would’ve made it to the rendezvous point—the closest area Scotty can punch through the magnetic-storm of an atmosphere to beam anyone up—by now. Instead, it’s nearing dark, their rations are thinning, everyone’s tired, and Jim’s half tempted to order Sulu to carry Chekov before the poor kid collapses. When they reach the tip of the slope, which is really just a kind way of saying mountain pinnacle, Bones stops them dead and declares, “We’re taking a break.”

Panting and resisting the urge to lean on Spock (the only member of the landing party currently not slumping over), Jim says, “I thought I was the captain.”

“This is a medical issue,” Bones overrules. “We’re all tired and my damn feet feel like they’ve been through a shredder. We can’t go on in the dark, anyway.” Hendorff, the only red-shirt along for what was supposed to be a simple observation mission on a relatively peaceful planet, lifts a flashlight, but Bones waves it away. “We can’t get all of us by on one of those; it’d be insane! The natives said these mountains are safe, and there’s a cave right there for shelter. Now, are we going to set up camp, or am I going to have to proclaim you all medically unfit to continue?”

The group collectively looks at Jim, who’s already waving the way towards the cave Bones mentioned: a gaping, grey, rocky hole in the otherwise generic scenery. A tricorder lights up Chekov’s face through the evening darkness as he reports, “Zhere are no signs of life nearby, Keptin.” Jim gives a thumbs up, because he doesn’t want to expend the energy it’ll take to turn around and talk. 

Once they’re inside the cave, the group spreads out and sits down, tasteless Starfleet rations already circling. Jim, the adrenaline buzzing in his ears from the climb in the somewhat humid atmosphere, tugs at Spock’s sleeve before he joins them. He developed a craving around the base of the mountain, and the thought of it was half of what kept him going the rest of the way. The other half was the sight of Spock climbing in front of him, taut ass flexing as Spock’s slender legs tackled sharp slope after rocky bolder. If they weren’t with a group of witnesses and on a semi-survival mission, he would’ve taken a break much, much earlier, though not at all for rest. 

When he tugs Spock out around the mouth of the cave, no one questions him. It’s not uncommon for the two of them to be off together, discussing classified missions specs, for all the others know. Still, Jim’s grateful when Bones half jokes, half grumbles after them, “Is this one of those times none of us should go out there?”

Jim teases back light enough to divert just how true the statement really is, “I need some hobgoblin alone time.” Spock lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. 

Jim pulls him outside the cave, takes him around the mouth, tucked out of sight, and shoves him up against the hard wall. Spock grunts at the impact, braces himself, and doesn’t move, just looks at Jim with burning eyes, sweat nowhere on his handsome face. Jim’s a wreck. Jim fists his fingers in the royal blue of Spock’s shirt and presses his lips against Spock’s, murmuring into a chaste kiss, “’M thirsty.”

“There are rations inside,” Spock tells him quietly, hands now reaching for Jim’s hips and holding, neither pushing nor pulling.

Jim shakes his head and growls, “That’s not what I want and you know it.” He scrapes his teeth along Spock’s jaw and kisses Spock’s neck, while Spock’s head turns away, sucking in breath. Jim’s hands start scrunching up Spock’s shirt, and Spock’s chest arches up into the touch, even as his normally so sure voice hesitates.

“If the others should see—”

“They won’t.” Jim comes around to find Spock’s mouth again, capturing another kiss and shoving all his _need_ into Spock, his wants and desires: everything that Spock is. He can feel Spock crumbling beneath him, and he nips a trail to Spock’s pointed ear, purring into it, “ _Please_ , Spock. It wouldn’t be right of me to take out of the rations we might need tomorrow when I have a perfectly good drink right here, and it’s all I can think about anyway—do you have any idea how much better you taste than water? I want your milk so bad I can hardly stand it...” As Jim nips the tip of Spock’s ear, he can feel Spock nod slowly against him. 

Spock mumbles a husky, “Be quick.”

So Jim rewards him with another kiss and a winning smile, before shoving the shirt up the rest of the way, scrunched beneath Spock’s armpits, his taut, flat chest perfectly exposed all the way down to his stomach, to the dark trail of hair that disappears into his pants. Jim presses another kiss into Spock’s throat as he sinks down Spock’s body, bending to lick across Spock’s pec and lap down to the target. He keeps his hands holding Spock’s fabric out of the way while his tongue traces the dusty green nipple, already half hard in anticipation, but it pebbles faster under Jim’s expert attention. Jim knows from experience exactly how to arouse every part of Spock’s body, and his ripe nipples are no different. Jim laps away at the pert nub until it’s impossibly erect, seeming to reach out to Jim’s mouth. Jim can hardly resist. He wraps his lips around it and sucks it inside, moaning deeply before they’ve even started. 

Then he _sucks_ and delights in the marvel that is his alien boyfriend. He never would’ve even thought of this with a human partner, but as soon as he got the first taste of Spock’s milk, it quickly became one of Jim’s many Vulcan fetishes. Now, he sucks as hard as he can, and he has to will himself not to harden in his pants at the fresh, warm liquid that trickles into his mouth. It tastes a little like Earth-cow milk, but sweeter, more delectable, more _addicting_ , and Jim sucks harder still, wanting to fill his stomach up with Spock’s nutrients. He can hear Spock’s stifled groan, and he can feel Spock’s body tremble slightly, but that only encourages him. He suckles on Spock’s breast like it was made for him, and some days, he thinks it was. 

The flow gets faster and fuller the more Jim drinks, and Jim takes everything he can, swallowing delicious mouthful after delicious mouthful. By the time it starts to taper off, he’s almost full, and he knows he isn’t going to need to torture Spock’s other nipple, even though he vaguely wants to. He tongues the one in his mouth a few more times, the lewd noises it makes causing him to smirk. When he pops free, a trail of saliva and single bead of white liquid remain, and Jim quickly laps them both away. He takes a minute just to stare: Spock’s chest has darkened around his nipple, both greener and pinker, the area Jim’s mouth occupied moist and slick. Jim blows on it and straightens, licking his lips. 

Spock looks at him, dazed and half-lidded, before saying quietly, “We have time for no more without being conspicuous.” Jim wrinkles his nose, because he knows that, but it still sucks. They were supposed to be in their bed tonight, wrapped together.

Instead, Jim drops a hand to Spock’s crotch, thickly tented. He squeezes it once in his hand, enjoying too much the way Spock bites back a strangled moan. If they had more privacy, Jim would happily take care of that. But as it is, he just lovingly rolls down Spock’s top, smoothing it back out again. He pats Spock’s hip and insists, “It’ll be okay.” Spock nods at the nonsensical statement. Maybe he’ll meditate his problem away. 

Jim kisses his cheek and murmurs, “I love you.” He can still taste Spock on his tongue, and it makes him want to just forget the rest of the landing party and drag Spock away to breed like a rabbit. 

But Bones calls, “You guys still alive out there?” through the darkness, and Jim’s forced to sigh and retreat. Spock follows, straightening back to composure impressively fast. 

At least Jim knows he’ll have a good breakfast in the morning.


	22. Kirk/Spock, Sarek (AU, servitude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek watches his servants kiss.

With a disappointed sigh, Sarek places the frail scroll aside—a recent and rather valuable archaeological find from a dig near the Voroth Sea. His high status does afford him many luxuries. 

One such example is the playmate recently purchased for his son. Though at the moment, neither servant is nearly so kempt as the scroll. Their training is even more difficult than the indecipherable ancient text, and even as he slips off the couch to kneel down beside them, both ignore his approach. 

If they’re ever going to be worth anything—one a half-breed and one a Terran, as they are—they’re going to need to learn to follow his instructions. In the meantime, he completes his own requests manually. He pries Jim’s searching hands from his son’s waist and clasps them firmly together behind Jim’s back. Jim has restraints on every limb, on every joint, for easy tying. Sarek uses the highly advanced, thin metal black bands to seamlessly seal Jim’s wrists to his elbows. Jim, more than used to being molded by his masters, doesn’t make any move of protest. He’s simply too distracted devouring Spock’s mouth, and Spock, even with his half-Vulcan blood, does no better. The two of them are making out like school children, stripped entirely bare except for their collars, cloths, and bindings. This started out for Sarek’s amusement, but he knows it’s quickly devolved back into their too-strong connection, and he wonders, not for the first time, if his son’s gone through a pon farr bonding without his noticing, perhaps on one of his many Empire missions off-planet. It’s possible, but unlikely. The way they rut against one another is far beyond raw passion, burning lust. They want to be _inside_ each other in every way possible. 

But they were instructed merely to kiss for him to watch, not to give into reckless abandonment. Finished with Jim, Sarek moves to his own son, who at least attempts to straighten under the attention. He doesn’t, however, at all pull away from Jim, who simply leans over to pick up the slack. Spock only has restraints around his wrists and ankles, and so Sarek snaps Spock’s wrists together behind his back, the molecular attachment mechanism snapping into place. 

Then Sarek returns to the couch, convinced he’ll have to keep the two of them in braces until servitude is better seared into them. He rearranges his own robes and lounges in the comfort of his expensive seating, returning the scroll to his lap. Unlike his pets, he posses considerable control, and he knows that with the right amount of patience, the old language will yield to him, preferably before it does so to any other Ambassadors—even as well respected as Sarek is, one can always use more power. Sarek returns part of his attention to his work, the rest still scanning the bound servants in his peripherals. One of the benefits of a pure Vulcan mind is the ability to concentrate on two things at once, and the display of pleasure does make the steady work before him easier. 

Even without the use of their hands to run all over one another’s bodies, Jim and Spock are touching everywhere they can. Their hips continue to gyrate into one another, Spock’s with impressive strength and Jim’s with unparalleled vigor. Their smooth chests rub together, pebbled nipples catching, their warm skin shimmering with beads of sweat from sheer exertion. Both of their faces are flushed—Jim’s pink and Spock’s green—and their mouths are open wide, tongues tracing each other’s lips and sliding over every groove and slipping in and out of mouths, stray saliva lingering between them. Their eyes are mostly closed, thick lashes down, but when Jim’s flutter half open, perfect blue eyes alight and dilated below them, Spock’s open to match. They stare at one another, and Spock pauses a moment, and Sarek thinks they’re going to break another rule he set this morning—they might actually _talk_ , moan and purr each others’ names, as they so often do—but then Spock dutifully returns to his task, and Jim’s wet mouth is there to meet him. 

Sarek, realizing that he’s already lost them this round, knows that they need to be separated and scolded. He prepares to order them apart, but stops. Though he’s never had any particular qualms at the allotment of his second son—he did, after all, know exactly what he was getting into when he bred Spock’s mother—he finds himself unwilling to part them just yet. Vulcans are pragmatic, after all, not cruel. And given their connection, it _would_ be cruel. 

So Sarek tells them levelly, “Finish up.” And this they listen to; Jim begins humping Spock like a wild animal, nearly growling into his mouth, and Spock’s teeth bite into Jim’s lower lip before nipping along his jaw, claiming his neck—Jim groans and tosses his head back. Spock leans forward into his prey, but Jim’s already rearing back, nuzzling hard into Spock’s face and hissing his pleasure into Spock’s cheek, and for a moment, Sarek’s sure they’re going to topple each other over in their haze of hunger.

But Jim comes before that can happen. He buries his face in Spock’s and cries out, still not having mastered his vocal tendencies. There’s barely enough time to see his pink cock twitching between them, spurting thin jets of sticky liquid all over Spock’s chest, one even reaching Spock’s chin as they kiss. Spock isn’t far behind. He bites his lip but still whines when he comes, just as pretty as his counterpart in the throws of an orgasm. His cum paints Jim back, and his hips ride out the blast, pumping forward each new load. 

When they’re done, they turn to look at Sarek, panting and blushing and utterly debauched; but then, that’s what they’re for. Sarek gives them a curt nod: the signal that they may clean up. Jim lights up in a smile, and Spock, having been raised better (although his playmate’s certainly set his progress back in many other areas) manages to hide his pleasure somewhat. Perfectly coordinated, the two of them fall to opposite sides, unable to lower gracefully with their hands bound. It doesn’t at all stop them from their usual methods. Jim opens his mouth wide and swallows Spock’s dick whole, sucking out any last drops before the real cleanup begins. Spock is more conservative and litters Jim’s crotch with little licks, swallowing every stray gob of cum he comes to. 

Sarek watches them work and exhales deeper than he means to. They bring him much pleasure, these pets, but there’s going to be a _lot_ of work ahead.


	23. Kirk/Spock/Bones (DP, 3some)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Spock’s childhood bed, Bones and Jim fill Spock with praise and cock.

The trip’s been a fun one, or as fun as a stiff tour of Vulcan architecture and Ambassador Sarek’s private home can be, but this is easily the best part. They’ve finished dinner—laden with Mrs. Grayson looking at Jim and Leonard with burning eyes like she _wants_ to tell them tons of stories about Spock as a little tyke in diapers, but can’t with the two sullen men surrounding her—and they’ve seen the garden, and they’ve exchanged pleasantries and surface conversations, and they’ve been lead to their three separate rooms which Jim and Leonard inevitably snuck out of. 

And now they’re curled up in Spock’s, having ambushed him in bed. The light’s still off, but T’Rukh is high through the window, and Leonard’s got his cock buried so deep up Spock’s ass that it’s a wonder he can form any coherent thoughts at all. Jim, on Spock’s other side, nestled up tight along his back, is sheathed to the hilt right alongside Leonard. Every time Leonard moves, he can feel Jim’s shaft brushing his, feel Spock’s soft Vulcan walls shivering and struggling to accommodate both, be he isn’t all human, and he won’t tear. He takes them both like a real trooper, no tears or whines, and he stubbornly holds back all his whimpers. Leonard can see it in the way his throat fluctuates and his eyes clench shut. He bites back a gasp in their arms and clutches at Leonard’s sides, head lolling back onto Jim’s shoulder. 

Jim kisses Spock’s cheek and thrusts deep inside him, murmuring, “You’re so beautiful, baby. I should’ve thanked your parents for the piece of art they’ve given me.”

“ _Us_ ,” Leonard corrects, nearly breathless. No one should have an ass this tight, and anyone that does at least shouldn’t take two cocks at once. Jim’s younger, sprier, full of ridiculous energy and can last better. Leonard’s panting and clutching Spock’s bare hips, more grinding in and out than pounding. He doesn’t have to do more; every time Jim shoves inside, it burns along Leonard’s shaft, and that’s just as good. 

Jim amends, “Us,” and moans, “we’re so lucky, Spock, so lucky, having you like this, you fucking perfect thing. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are? I could fuck you for days...” When Jim trails off, Leonard’s groaning in the back of his throat. He couldn’t stay hard that long, but he’d watch happily, even knowing Jim’s full of shit. Jim doesn’t care; Jim’s all adoring nonsense. He gasps and runs one hand over Spock’s lithe hip, catching Leonard’s on the way. “You feel so _good_. My perfect first officer, always serving all my needs... but you already know how good you are; even Bones is happy with you tonight, and Bones doesn’t like anyone...” Leonard snorts and would tell Jim to shut up if he weren’t so light headed from the constant squeeze of Spock’s ass. While Jim’s busy nipping at Spock’s cheek, Leonard kisses the other one, needing something in his mouth to stop all the growling. He grabs one of Spock’s legs and hikes it over his hips, giving himself a new angle, and Spock clutches weakly at him, clearly fighting so hard not to tremble. Jim pets his sides and goes on: “You’ve been so good this whole trip, honey. Letting us into your life, showing us your old room, letting us fuck you in your childhood bed... not that you’re not delicious on the ship, too... you parents must be so proud of you, making it that far; first officer of the whole fleet’s flagship; the best, the brightest there is...”

While Spock writhes on Jim’s moving dick, Leonard finally manages to hiss, “Stop it; you’ll give him a big head.” Little ‘ _I love you_ ’s are one thing, but Jim always says one sentiment too many. Spock is clearly too overwhelmed to weigh in either way, and when Leonard really concentrates through the darkness, he can see the growing, thick green blush all over Spock’s handsome cheeks. 

It makes him reconsider his warning. If there’s one thing Leonard loves—other than his two irritating boyfriends—it’s breaking Spock down into an emotional _wreck_. So Leonard doesn’t snap this time when Jim purrs against Spock’s pointed ear, “But he _deserves_ that big head. Why shouldn’t he know how wonderful he is, how smart, how valuable, how much we adore him?” Spock’s voice breaks before Jim’s does, his bow lips falling open to spill all sorts of _illogical_ sounds. Leonard’s no good at praise, but he doesn’t have to be. He’s got Spock’s front, Spock’s face, and he lavishes it in a sudden wave of licks and kisses, driven mad with his own lust. Jim hisses in Spock’s ear on Leonard’s behalf, “He loves you, Spock. Loves you so, so much, and you know I do, too; you’re the center of my whole world...” Leonard doesn’t try to shove in for another ‘us’; he already knows. This isn’t about him anymore, just Spock. 

Spock tries to kiss him. Spock’s panting mouth searches Leonard’s out, but Leonard turns away, not wanting to give Spock the muzzle; he wants to hear every dirty sound that wrenches its way out Spock’s throat. He’s already busy focusing on grinding into Spock’s exotic channel, on the exquisite way Jim stabs up against him, impaling Spock’s already speared-open ass over and over. He worships Spock’s body with his hands, with his cock, with his mouth, and Spock keens and clings to him, soaking in sweat. Jim chuckles and purrs, “I bet you were an adorable kid...”

Spock whispers, “Please,” and that’s so out of character that it draws Leonard’s eyes, lips twisting into a smirk; he loves when Spock begs. Spock looks like he wants to cover his face in his hands, burry himself into a hole and never come out. But he doesn’t have that luxury. 

Jim licks the tip of Spock’s ear and moans, “Please what, baby? Tell you how much you mean to us? How good you feel, how pretty you are, how much we think about you and talk about you and want nothing more than to be by your side—or better yet, _inside_ you?” 

Spock pants, “ _Jim_ ,” and then, when Leonard gets jealous and bites his neck, “ _Leonard_...”

Jim snakes a hand between them and uses it to turn Spock’s head around, grab his cheek and force it aside, so the two of them can smash their mouths together. Leonard can still feel every one of Jim’s brutal thrust. When Jim’s done with Spock’s mouth, he turns it back and pushes it at Leonard; Leonard gives his captain what he wants and devours Spock’s mouth, pulling back a moment later to bite lingering marks into the side of Spock’s face. 

Only because he knows he’s getting close, and he doesn’t want to come without contributing to Spock’s shame, Leonard growls, “I love you too, hobgoblin...” 

Jim chuckles but mirrors, “Love you so much...”

Spock bites his lip; it looks like he wants to scream. 

Jim does it instead. He buries his face in Spock’s neck to avoid the shriek, but Leonard can still feel the muffled vibrations rippling through Spock’s body. He can feel even better the pulsing in Jim’s cock, the tensing at the end and the sudden explosion that soaks them both, spills into Spock’s tight channel and slips all around them. Leonard grinds his way right through it, but the sight of Jim’s bliss-wrecked face always does things to him. Leonard’s following before Jim’s even finished, and Leonard grabs Spock’s mouth with his teeth to cover his own scream. The orgasm washes through him with dizzying force; the pair of them combined is more than Leonard can take. The ruined way Spock kisses him back, ravenous and hungry and not at all controlled, pulls out every last drop Leonard has to offer. By the time he’s done, he’s trembling and moaning, and reaches down to grab at Spock’s long Vulcan dick, already wrapped in Jim’s fingers. 

They jerk him off together, both still filling him up, and he writhes in their arms and moans and tries not to and looks debauched and beautiful: _Spock_ at his most raw. It might be one of Leonard’s very favourite things in the whole damn universe. They milk Spock out, whispering praise the whole way, and when Spock does come, he really does cover his face in his hands. Leonard pulls them away while Jim pumps Spock out, and Spock comes undone in their arms, shivering in lust. Or love. They kiss him all over in the aftermath; it’s never quite over. 

Spock looks like he wants to scold them both but doesn’t have the words. Leonard wants to laugh and promise not to tell Spock’s father. 

When they finally settle down to sleep properly, Jim and Leonard have to pull out, and it leaves Spock stretched and leaking onto the mattress, and Jim promises, “We’ll help clean you up tomorrow.” Which makes it sound more like they’ll clean _Spock_ than the sheets, and Leonard lazily plays with Spock’s disheveled bangs and doesn’t correct him.

As they lie there, a limp, sweaty, limb-entangled mess, Spock whispers through the dark, “You are both...”

“Illogical?” Jim supplies. Leonard snorts. 

Spock sighs, “Fascinating,” and Leonard just laughs harder, while Jim pecks Spock on the cheek.


	24. Spock/Crew (MU, bondage, tentacles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones and Jim keep Spock in isolation while he brutally fucks out his pon farr.

Though he’s well aware that it’s all on record, caught from several angles on multiple security cameras, it’s difficult for Jim to stay on shift. He can’t help but want to watch it _live_ , even if his duty—and the now-disabled Klingon ship out the viewscreen—keeps him on the bridge. When the communications light on his armrest blinks, Jim slaps it on immediately. 

_“Time for another one,”_ Bones tells him bluntly, vague enough to echo over the bridge. More for his own personal reasons than respect for Bones’ patient, Jim’s kept this on select security. He doesn’t even bother to bark his acknowledgement, just flicks the channel closed. They both know he’ll be down in a hurry.

The Klingon threat is currently neutralized. Jim announces, “Chekov, with me. Uhura, you have the comm.” His communications Lieutenant struts instantly over, and the young ensign at the navigation console turns in his chair, eyes wide in his pretty, Slavic features. 

He’s too smart and ever-eager-to-please to protest though. He climbs out of his chair, replaced quickly by Darwin, and follows Jim to the turbolift, looking both mildly terrified and excited. Jim says nothing to ease his worry. The doors close around them, and Jim stares at Chekov’s rigid profile, getting a sick satisfaction out of it. How much does Chekov know anyway? Surely the officers must note that a few of them have been plucked off, sacrificed for their captain’s mysterious secret. Perhaps the smarter ones have even put two and two together—after all, their first officer, usually so punctual for every shift, has been off the bridge for a good two days. 

Instead, he’s tied up in sickbay, locked in Bones’ special isolation unit, thoroughly bound with chains strong enough to hold a feral Gorn. It’s a rather brilliant solution that Jim’s quite proud of; he may be the first starship officer in the history of the Empire to get through a Vulcan officer’s _pon farr_ without a single casualty, said Vulcan or otherwise. Between Bones’ clever restraints and Jim’s constant rotation of sacrifices, they may well satisfy the blood fever in one piece. 

Chekov, of course, knows none of this, and he stiffly follows Jim out the opening turbolift doors and down to sickbay, still without a word. 

He dons a puzzled expression in Jim’s peripherals when they enter sickbay, but Jim keeps walking, straight to the end, through a top-security door, only to turn and stop right outside the isolation unit. There, Jim takes his place next to Bones, and Chekov stops abruptly, mouth falling open. 

Beyond the reinforced glass, Spock is just as Jim left him. His hands are thoroughly bound above his head, the thick cuffs clamped on his wrists showing bruises around the edges. Spock’s skin is a sickly green from where he doubtlessly fought them, obviously to no avail. His feet are fastened to the floor with similar cuffs, a metal bar between them. His clothes where left on—Jim does enjoy a man in uniform—though his pants have long since toppled to his feet, shirt scrunched up and glued around his torso with drying Vulcan cum. He’s covered in sweat, and the alluring stench permeates even through the glass. His hair’s a mess, his eyes wild. His bow lips are stretched around a cracking ball gag, and semi-dried saliva dribbles around it and down his chin. Jim takes a moment just to appreciate the view: one he’s certainly been missing. 

Then he moves on to look at Sulu: the last sacrifice. The helmsman is strung from the ceiling in the same manner as Spock, except that all his clothes have been stripped away and he’s slumping, clearly unconscious. His ass is shining, not just from where Bones stretched and oiled it, but from the heaping pools of cum splattered all over him. Spock’s five-pronged dick, an impressive alien display halfway between tentacles and multiple cocks, is still pounding its way into Sulu’s rear, Spock’s hips violently shoving into it. Sulu bounces forward with each thrust. Helpless and numb. The white-green river running down his thighs twists all the way to his feet, pooling between them, and Spock isn’t showing any sign of stopping. This is the ninth officer he’s fucked senseless, and Bones, staring at the display with a tinge of pride in his voice, says, “Sulu’s another load or two away from bursting. He’s already taken some internal damage, nothing I can’t patch up, of course, but if we let this go on much longer, he won’t regain the ability to walk.”

Jim nods and reaches out without looking. He clamps his hand onto the back of Chekov’s neck, who flinches but doesn’t dare move away. “I brought another. Better prepare him quick.” When Jim shoves Chekov forward, the small ensign stumbles right into Bones, who grabs him by the gold tunic and drags him off to be prepared. Jim is left to stare through the glass at the beautiful beast that used to be his first officer.

He can’t help but stare at Spock’s crotch first; though Jim has plenty of experience with Spock’s odd, alien genitals, he’s never seen all five attacking an ass so fiercely. Each appendage is a glorious display in itself: just as long and thick as the best of Earth cocks, but able to twist and bend and hold a man down. They’re tinted green and yellow rather than pink, darker at the heads, and the two of which Jim can see, bracketed around Sulu’s abused, red cheeks, are leaking thick streams of cum. Jim already knows how virile Spock is, but he’s never seen them go this long, never seen quite so _much_ of it. And he can’t even see the amount that’s trapped inside, not to mention the thick coating plastered along the last eight officers. As Jim stares, one of the three shafts twisting its way inside Sulu’s gaping ass pulls out, spraying a new fountain over the tops of Sulu’s cheeks. Jim takes an unconscious step closer to the glass, eyes intent on the engorged head of the tentacle-cock, throbbing as it releases spurt after spurt of hot seed. Jim can even see the outlines of veins slithering up each shaft, pulsing with life. The way they glisten with their release, highlighting their strength and girth, makes Jim lick his lips. Even after extensive preparation, he’s never taken more than two in him at a time. Now Spock is slamming forward at a relentless pace, mercilessly dominating the unconscious sacrifice before him, and the third monster cock moves back in to join the other two as they stab home again and again. The noises it makes, even with Sulu silent and Spock gagged, are brutal and delicious.

Jim takes another step forward, and the toes of his boots hit the glass. A movement in Spock’s face, chin jerking towards him, moves his eyes up. Spock’s hips don’t stop for a second, but his eyes are _burning_ for his captain. His jaw clenches around his muzzle, and Jim finds something insanely alluring about seeing his normally so controlled first officer literally drooling with lust. 

Jim puts a palm on the glass and purrs, knowing his precious Vulcan can hear him, “Don’t worry, pet. You’ll get your chance with me, once you’ve gotten that violent streak out of your system. If you’re a good boy, I mean. Spend yourself now, because if you’re good for me, I’ll be the last one: your prize at the end.” Spock growls around his gag, arms suddenly jerking at his bonds. He tries to strain forward, but it’s a hopeless effort, and he inevitably returns to the same angle as before, slamming into Sulu but staring at Jim. Jim meant to be soothing, but he knows he’s only made Spock _hungrier_. 

As Bones marches back into the room, dragging a naked, oiled, and shivering Chekov behind him, Jim chuckles and strokes the glass in lieu of Spock’s face. He won’t admit his willingness in front of witnesses, but he doesn’t have to: Spock knows. Bones opens the sealed door and enters to switch the sacrifices, while Jim holds Spock’s attention and keeps his lover in line.


	25. Khan/Chekov (cock warming)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chekov warms Khan’s cock at Starfleet HQ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to abbeyjewel for betaing :) ♥

Pavel’s been on edge all day, which only makes it harder not to move. He knows he’s made himself more tense in the process and thus only made it harder, but he can’t _help_ it. He’s had Khan’s cock in his mouth for what feels like _hours_ , and all he wants to do is bury his face in his boyfriend’s crotch and suck with everything he has.

But then he wouldn’t be a very good cock-warmer, and as eager as Pavel always is to please, he wants to do it _right_. His body screams to pleasure Khan with everything he has, but he intellectually knows that he’ll please his boyfriend more if he behaves. Which means sitting still with his jaw open as wide as it’ll go, his face pressed between Khan’s thighs, his palms and legs on the floor. He’s kneeling under Khan’s desk in Khan’s office, the garbage bin and a potted plant conveniently pulled up to the side to hide him. He’s in his Starfleet uniform—well, the gold dress version of it, which isn’t exactly the one that was issued to him. Khan’s in the usual dark pants and shirt and trench, except for his open fly. Every once in a while, he drops his hand below the table top and strokes back Pavel’s curls, whispering too quietly for anyone else to hear, “ _Good boy._ ”

Pavel shivers in delight and fights to suppress his moan. The praise is more than worth the stiffness and pins and needles all over his skin. He shuts his eyes and tries to relax and listens to the steady typing above him. He wonders vaguely what Khan’s working on, but he knows he doesn’t have clearance as high as his boyfriend, and he won’t ask. Then he wonders if Khan will be able to transfer Pavel to his ship when he inevitably gets one—the thought of Khan lounging back in a captain’s chair with some other yeoman knelt between his legs makes Pavel want to cry. But that’s part of why they’re doing this, isn’t it? Showing that he can be a good ensign, that he can be discreet in public, that he can follow any orders well and manage to serve with his boyfriend without giving them away. Pavel’s always been good at following orders, but when it comes to _control_ , to being quiet and submissive and containing his eagerness to please, that’s _hard_. He knows he can’t serve on a starship whilst tripping over his captain, demanding special attention and getting excitable right on the bridge. But it’s so difficult not to get hard the second he sees his gorgeous boyfriend, and then Khan opens his mouth and talks in that perfect, deep, sexy-as-hell voice and Pavel quivers with need...

Pavel grabs the front of his dress with the heel of his hand and pushes it down to the floor. He’s careful not to touch himself. He’s not allowed to be hard right now. He’s keeping his boyfriend’s cock warm. That’s all. He’s doing a duty, and it isn’t allowed to go into bedroom mode until he’s told otherwise.

He wills himself to be good, breathes through his nose, and tries to think of other things than the musky scent of man in his nostrils and the delicious taste of cock in his mouth. He runs absently through Mr. Scott’s transwarp equation in his head, still trying to unravel the genius.

What seems like forever later, the console above him clicks off. Pavel’s ears perk at the sound, eyes darting to the top of the desk, though, of course, he can’t see a thing. Khan’s hand reappears to palm his bulging cheek, and Pavel, wanting to coo, nuzzles into it.

Then Khan’s pushing at his forehead, and Pavel whines, not wanting to go. He’s pushed off anyway. His mouth stays wide open while Khan’s massive cock slips out, dragging a trail of saliva that Pavel doesn’t stop inside from spilling over his chin. He wipes at his sore lips and tries to cover his whimper. Khan sighs quietly, though vague enough for it not to matter who hears, “Time to go home and use this equipment properly.” _Equipment._ Pavel sincerely hopes that means his body.

He waits to be ushered out, needing to know the coast is clear. Khan pulls him up and they make a strategic exist past all the other cubicles in the center of the room, Khan walking on the outside to hide Pavel’s out-of-place gold and disheveled face and shaky, stumbling knees.

Khan takes him to the washroom, uses toilet paper to wipe off his face, tells him he’s been good, and kisses him. All the waiting was worth it.


	26. Sulu/Chekov (comeplay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chekov seduces Sulu into another round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For camilla-esme’s prompt “submissive slutty Chekov” on my tumblr.

Pavel clenches when Hikaru tries to leave, because he doesn’t want it to go. Even after he’s come across his own chest, around his thighs pinned to his stomach and his hands holding back his knees, he still likes being filled. He likes the length of Hikaru’s cock, the wide girth, the soft, veined texture and the flagging, unforgiving rigidity of it. He never feels quite as complete after Hikaru’s left him, and he contracts the walls off his ass in an effort to hold on. 

Hikaru, hovering above him on hands and knees, grunts, “Fuck, Chekov, cut that _out._ ” But Pavel, pouting, doesn’t listen. He’s only obedient while he’s getting fucked. As soon as they slip back into professionalism—uniforms and surnames—Pavel’s a stubborn Russian that holds tightly onto his mate. 

Hikaru’s engorged dick slides out of him anyway, trailing a little bit of lube and a lot of cum. Pavel tries to keep clenching to hold onto it but can feel himself failing, and he whimpers in disappointment. The noise makes his ass twitch and more white liquid drizzle out of his hole and down his cheeks, pooling in the blanket. Even as Hikaru pulls off of him, Pavel keeps his legs held back to give off a full view of his greedy asshole slick with Hikaru’s cum. 

Hikaru rakes a hand through his sweaty hair and slips off the bed. He yanks his underwear back up his hips, which is a shame, because Pavel _loves_ the sight of his thick, elegant cock. Pavel lost his own underwear long ago, down to nothing. He doesn’t like wearing clothes when Hikaru’s around; it’s easier to trap Hikaru down like this, to entice his best friend into spending every last available second fucking him hard into the mattress. But now Hikaru shakes his head and strolls to his set of drawers in the corner, muttering, “I’ve got to get changed for work.” There’s a thin lace of spite in it; Pavel, as a lower ranking officer, has the day off without him.

And Pavel, as Hikaru well knows from all of Pavel’s purred promises, is going to spend the day right here, naked in Hikaru’s bed, fucking himself on his fingers and humping Hikaru’s pillow and waiting for his dear boyfriend to hurry home. He’s still hoping he can get that boyfriend to take a sickday; Pavel’s sure he could exhaust Hikaru enough to earn a pass from Dr. McCoy. 

But Hikaru’s stubbornly looking away from him. Finally, Pavel lets his legs slip back to the mattress, still trembling a bit and pink from being rammed into. He lifts up on his stiff elbows and looks down between his legs, spreading his thighs, his smaller cock now nestled in the pool of Hikaru’s cum. Hikaru has a tendency to come a ridiculous amount, much to Pavel’s delight, and he doesn’t want to let it cool and go to waste. He scoops up a large glob on his fingers and brings it to his mouth, popping right inside to suck it off with a languid moan.

By the time Pavel’s going in for a second swipe, he can feel Hikaru’s eyes on him, and he leans back enough to have decent access to his hole, which he sticks his finger into, cleaning off his own walls. Pulling them out again makes his breath hitch, and then he’s lapping more of Hikaru’s release off his skin, savouring the bitter, salty taste. He could drink a glass of Hikaru’s cum if they arranged it, but of course, he still prefers to have Hikaru come on him. This is the best of all worlds: in his ass, on his thighs, all over his mouth and down his throat to pool in his stomach. He smears his third scoop along his lips like a gloss, then licks it off with slow little laps and eyes sliding to catch Hikaru’s gaze.

Hikaru’s got one pant leg on and is frozen, watching as Pavel scoops both palms into the mess and brings it to his mouth like a drink, moaning loudly as he licks them clean. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hikaru swears again, “Do you ever _stop_?”

With one cum-soaked index finger in his mouth and a blush on his cheeks, Pavel whines, “I can’t help it that you taste so good.” A dark hunger races across Hikaru’s eyes; they’re both young and full of stamina. He thinks he might be winning. 

Just in case, he lowers back down and rolls around to his stomach so he can rut his cock through the remainder of the mess, his abused ass high in the air as he begs, “ _Hikaru_ , stay with me... I want you to take me again, wery, wery badly...” He arches his back and wags his ass like a dog, moaning filthy and wanton, pulling out all the stops. 

Hikaru grumbles but steps out of his pants and tosses them aside, already jerking his boxers back down as he stalks back towards the bed. He’s on it in a flash, his weight bearing down on Pavel like a blessing, his half-hard cock nestling right between Pavel’s cheeks. Hikaru flattens him down into the mattress and growls, “One more round.” He kisses Pavel’s cheek, and Pavel turns away to hide his smirk, because he knows it won’t stop at one.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Five Times As Nice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051772) by [queensusan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensusan/pseuds/queensusan)




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